THE WISE 
 
 AND 
 
 THE WAYWARD 
 
 Q 5. STREET
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 SAN 01SGO
 
 THE WISE 
 
 AND 
 
 THE WAYWARD
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR: 
 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A BOY. Passages selected 
 by his friend G. S. STREET. With a titlepage de- 
 signed by C. W. Furse. Fifth Edition. Foolscap 
 8vo. $1.25. 
 
 A piece of distinguished humour and a piece of reserved and deli- 
 cate art. The material is novel, the treatment unfalteringly ironical, 
 the execution rarely sober and judicious, and the effect, within its 
 limits, is absolute. ... A creation in which there appears to be no 
 flaw. Pall Mall Gazette, London. 
 
 This little book is pure delight. . . . The conception is excellent 
 and the style perfect. One simmers with laughter from first to last. 
 Speaker, London. 
 
 The most admirable individual bit of irony that has seen the light 
 for many a long day. . . Inimitable in originality and reticence. 
 World, London. 
 
 There is more observation and art of presentment in this little 
 book than in a wilderness of three-volume novels, even by eminent 
 hands. Athen&attt, London. 
 
 A quite priceless treasure. Tubby is indeed a new immortal. 
 Academy, London. 
 
 It is admirably done throughout ; full of delicate strokes of iron- 
 ical wit. Daily Telegraph, London. 
 
 We cannot recommend this little volume too highly. Mr. Street 
 has accomplished a difficult task to perfection. Vanity Fair, 
 London.
 
 THE WISE 
 
 AND 
 
 THE WAYWARD 
 
 BY 
 G. S. STREET 
 
 JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD 
 
 LONDON AND NEW YORK 
 
 1896
 
 Copyright, 1896, 
 BY JOHN LANE. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 $ress: 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 I. A CONVERSATION i 
 
 II. ANOTHER CONVERSATION 8 
 
 III. A WOMAN'S REFLECTIONS 18 
 
 IV. A LONDON INTERIOR 27 
 
 V. THE START 36 
 
 VI. NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 44 
 
 VII. AN AFTERNOON IN TOWN 60 
 
 VIII. MR. MORRISON 73 
 
 IX. A HOUSE PARTY AT ROWE .... 89 
 
 X. AN UNCONSCIOUS CAMPAIGN .... 102 
 
 XI. " LIFE 's A FARCE " 1 16 
 
 XII. OLD FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE ... 131 
 
 XIII. THE END OF A LECTURE 142 
 
 XIV. IN FRESHER AIR 149 
 
 XV. FOLLY 159 
 
 XVI. MR. MORRISON'S WRONGS 170 
 
 XVII. THE CHANCES OF EXPLANATIONS . . 185 
 
 XVIII. AN END OF FOLLY 198 
 
 XIX. MENDING A MISTAKE 209 
 
 XX. A HAPPY ENDING 223
 
 The Wise and the 
 Wayward 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A CONVERSATION 
 
 OLD Mrs. Ashton of Rowe and Mr. Wilmot, her 
 oldest friend, sat and talked after dinner. They 
 sat out of the range of the lamps, but the light 
 of the big fireplace of the big drawing-room of 
 Rowe House shone on Mrs. Ashton's little lace 
 cap and neat white hair and delicate small face as 
 she leaned thoughtfully over the blaze and held 
 her hands to its warmth. She was always cold, 
 and the little shiver visible whenever she moved 
 a yard from a fire seemed consistent with the 
 glance of indefinable inquietude which met an 
 intimation of outside things outside the quiet 
 house where she read old letters and mused over 
 the fire and thought on future happiness or
 
 2 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 devised present comfort for George Ashton, her 
 son. She had been out in the cold in her time, 
 and was come to think the warmth of the fire 
 the thing most desirable for herself and for those 
 who were dear to her, and she shivered when 
 they vaunted the winter weather. A gentle and 
 appealing old lady, fragile, dignified, and loved. 
 It was a pity, artistic effect considered, that 
 Francis Wilmot was not her husband. He was 
 the complement, in a favourable sense, of her 
 sweet old age. He was tall, straight, and ruddy, 
 and a natural grace alone saved the youthfulness 
 of his sixty-eight years from aggressiveness. 
 His hair, as white as his old friend's, was brushed 
 back in a broad sweep from his forehead, and 
 was an appropriate contrast with his thick eye- 
 brows, still black, and his black keen eyes. He 
 was clean-shaven. He stood with his back to 
 the fire and tapped the hearth-rug with a small, 
 shining pump. A virile, fine old man, who 
 laughed at his own strong prejudices and never 
 questioned them. As he looked down with a 
 quiet, protective affection on the small old lady, 
 he should have been her husband. But her 
 husband had been a subtle-minded fault-finder, a 
 drunkard, and a wayward amorist, and had died
 
 A CONVERSATION 3 
 
 at fifty. It was something that Francis Wilmot 
 was her oldest friend. 
 
 They were talking of George Ashton's engage- 
 ment to marry, announced to Mrs. Ashton on his 
 arrival that afternoon. 
 
 " Francis," the old lady said, "tell me; you 
 don't like it?" 
 
 "I? I think it's time he married. Thirty, 
 is n't he? And a man with a place like this 
 ought to marry." 
 
 "Your place is larger." 
 
 Mr. Wilmot looked kindly upon her and spoke 
 gaily : 
 
 " And I have n't even had the sense of duty 
 to marry ! A useless old idler ! " The lady 
 smiled softly at him and looked back at the fire. 
 " But I 'm a bad example ; neglected every 
 other duty too." 
 
 " Except being the best landlord in your 
 county and the best friend in the world." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ; I 'm what the Socialists call 
 an encumbrance to the community ; never done 
 a stroke of work " 
 
 " Francis, I want to talk about my boy." 
 
 " With all my heart. You know what I think 
 of him. With his father's brains and your dis-
 
 4 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 position I beg your pardon very humbly, 
 Dorothy with your brains " 
 
 "Francis, why do you evade me? You can 
 say anything to me. I don't know these people ; 
 I can't help feeling nervous. You must tell me 
 what you know." 
 
 "That is almost nothing. I used to know 
 Canover slightly; I have seen his daughters; 
 George has chosen a wonderfully pretty girl. 
 You must n't think he has done anything foolish. 
 It 's the idea of his caring for anybody more than 
 you that makes you anxious " 
 
 "I think not. I am not a strong woman, 
 perhaps, but I am not stupid or blind. George 
 has had fancies before he never tells me, but 
 I know. I don't deceive myself about his 
 character. He 's the best son in the world, and 
 an honourable man. But about women he is 
 easily governed by the feelings that pass. The 
 women who have attracted him have sometimes 
 I speak vaguely, you understand some- 
 times not been those whom his judgment and 
 his delicacy would choose. It may be so now. 
 I must be unhappy till I know. It 's not parting 
 with him we must part in a way I knew 
 that must come. I have only prayed that his
 
 A CONVERSATION 5 
 
 wife will let me love her and not put barriers 
 between my son and me. I am unhappy till I 
 know he has chosen well. Tell me what you 
 know, dear friend." 
 
 " My dear, I should never forgive myself if I 
 said anything to make mischief in the least de- 
 gree. I will be absolutely frank with you. You 
 know I think a great deal of George, and I have 
 known him very well all his life. Naturally, 
 then, I am not easily satisfied that his wife is 
 good enough for him. I simply don't happen to 
 know that Miss Canover is : that is really all." 
 
 Mrs. Ashton smiled sadly. "Diplomatist! 
 What of Major Canover? " 
 
 "Since he's left the army he's been doing 
 something in the City. No, Dorothy, you 're a 
 woman in a million. It 's best to tell you all I 
 know ; you 're safe to hear it somewhere. Can- 
 over is not a good fellow, though he 's pleasant 
 enough. He 's been mixed up with things pretty 
 near the wind, and there was one case which got 
 into the law courts the other people con- 
 cerned were a money-lender and a very young 
 man. And he has not done well by his daugh- 
 ters. Their mother died when they were chil- 
 dren, and since they've been out Canover has
 
 6 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 exploited them in a way, hawked them about, 
 made them seem a sort of quasi-professional 
 beauties. I 'm talking like a malicious old gossip, 
 but these are facts everybody will tell you. They 
 don't tell against the girl in the least I know 
 nothing whatever against her. Perhaps some 
 busybody will tell you she has had a few harm- 
 less flirtations: there's nothing more. Very 
 likely George is the first man she has really 
 cared for. That and your influence " 
 
 The hater of scandal was a trifle out of breath. 
 He looked troubled ; he had really spoken as he 
 thought right, but wondered if he had said 
 too much. Mrs. Ashton passed her hand across 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Poor girl ! " she said. " But my boy he 
 is so sensitive." 
 
 " Here he comes. We were talking about 
 you, George." 
 
 George Ashton bent over his mother and 
 kissed her as he passed to the fire. He was a 
 little above the average in height, slight, thin- 
 featured, with large greyish-blue eyes and light 
 brown hair, and a broad forehead. His look was 
 frank, but not alert ; one was not sure of an im- 
 pression : it might be of brains and taste, it might
 
 A CONVERSATION 7 
 
 hardly be of vigour or determination. The effect 
 was faintly ironical ; the little laugh with which 
 he answered Mr. Wilmot was not merry ; there 
 were slight lines at the corners of his mouth. 
 
 " Of course you were. And about my mar- 
 riage and happiness ever after. Mr. Wilmot has 
 been telling you lots of charming things about 
 Nell, I 'm sure, mother." 
 
 " I only know her looks, my boy." 
 
 " No? " There was the faintest possible tinge 
 of defiance in his voice. " But you know the Ma- 
 jor? He said he knew you. H'm ! Poor Francis, 
 you need n't be embarrassed. I don't swagger 
 about the Major, but I suppose he '11 do the 
 heavy father as well as another. I don't marry 
 the family. But you will like Nell, mother." 
 
 Mrs. Ashton went to her son and looked up 
 into his eyes. 
 
 " Yes, mother dear. I know the atmosphere 
 she 's lived in is antipathetic to you, but she 's 
 not part of it. She 's fond of gaiety and that sort 
 of thing, of course, but it 's never spoiled her. 
 She has a straight, simple nature. Yes, mother, 
 she 's a noble girl ; she is indeed." 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Mrs. Ashton, while Francis 
 Wilmot looked gravely at his shining pumps.
 
 8 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ANOTHER CONVERSATION 
 
 THE Ashtons of Rowe were not a distin- 
 guished family. They had lived at Rowe some 
 three hundred years a tolerably long while 
 for England and had never fallen from their 
 importance in their district of Hampshire. But 
 no Ashton of Rowe survived in the memory of 
 a grateful country as general, admiral, or states- 
 man, although a few were of some account in 
 their day. They had had their definite place in 
 the English society of their times, and you meet 
 them now and again in memoirs and letters. 
 None of them, however, had shone brightly in 
 social life, and for some generations they had 
 lived almost entirely at Rowe, entertaining their 
 neighbours, but not filling their house with 
 guests. 
 
 Oddly, for two generations they had not be6n 
 mighty sportsmen. George Ashton's father
 
 ANOTHER CONVERSATION 9 
 
 and grandfather, though both strong men, and 
 active by fits and starts, had lived much in their 
 library, a type of well-bred and fastidious students 
 of literature, who would have been welcome at 
 Strawberry Hill. It must have been love of 
 Rowe that made them its constant occupiers, 
 and Rowe was meet to be loved. In all Hamp- 
 shire there was no more perfect expression of a 
 gracious English life a life dignified and some- 
 what retired, ordered and above ambition, arti- 
 ficial (doubtless) and soon to pass away. For 
 mere wealth, the reward of struggle, and mere 
 friendliness of manner, which may remain, pro- 
 duce no such atmosphere as that of Rowe. 
 
 The house was Jacobean, formal and stately 
 in its approach, but at the back, where were 
 broad terraces and an abundance of flowers, 
 inviting and sympathetic. The gardens merged 
 soon in the glades and avenues of the park. A 
 large hall, the large drawing-room opposite, 
 two broad staircases at each end imagine 
 some favourite country house, and the at- 
 mosphere which many generations of right 
 keeping may make for right imaginations. 
 Outside the park was the dower-house, an older 
 building covered with creepers, empty, since it
 
 io THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 was an Ashton tradition not to let it, and George 
 Ashton and his mother were people for whom 
 such traditions have a value. 
 
 Since leaving Oxford, George Ashton had spent 
 most of his time at Rowe with his mother, and 
 the rest of it in his rooms in London. In Lon- 
 don he was much as are most young men who 
 like amusement and can afford to buy it. He 
 belonged to a good club, dined out, danced 
 occasionally in the season, and occasionally 
 dived into what passes for Bohemia. Balliol had 
 respected him, and, like his father and grand- 
 father, he was fond of books and contemporary 
 letters in a quiet fashion worth mentioning in 
 regard to a taste which is now-a-days somewhat 
 curiously noisy and at Rowe was absorbed 
 in them. That he had escaped certain other of 
 his father's tastes altogether, I cannot affirm. 
 He was fond of wine, and amorous as well, but 
 in both particulars he had improved on the 
 paternal example, being neither scandalous nor 
 a drunkard. Nor do I affirm that he was a use- 
 ful member of society : I fear that my narrative 
 has mostly to do with useless people. He had 
 no profession, and did not really believe in the 
 great work which, when written, should justify
 
 ANOTHER CONVERSATION n 
 
 9 
 
 his existence. Yet he had a few stray virtues. 
 
 Amusement had not spoiled his intellect, nor 
 his intellect his manners. His devotion to his 
 mother had involved no sacrifice of himself, but 
 he loved her sincerely, and intimacy with her 
 had opened and cherished a natural delicacy 
 and good will to the world, which his life had 
 sometimes jarred upon, but had left unspoiled. 
 
 Perhaps, however, it is more satisfactory to 
 turn to his first cousin, John, his senior by a 
 few years and, failing a son, his heir. For Jack 
 Ashton was that thing most acceptable to men, 
 and, let us hope, to heaven, a person in complete 
 harmony with his environment, absolutely and 
 unremittedly content. His wife had the same 
 pre-eminence, and so, apart from the inevitable 
 woes of babyhood, had their year-old boy. 
 Husband and wife were fond of each other and 
 of the baby, and the baby was as fond of them 
 as could be expected. It is therefore my privi- 
 lege to introduce you to a happy home. 
 
 Jack Ashton's father had married a woman of 
 substantial fortune, and Jack Ashton followed 
 his wise example. Having enjoyed himself 
 thoroughly but wisely, he thought it well, at 
 thirty-one, to double his income and make him-
 
 12 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 self a permanent home by marrying the daughter 
 (aged twenty-five) of a successful promoter of 
 companies. She in her way had enjoyed life as 
 thoroughly and wisely, and also was aware of the 
 common sense in the contract. He was strong 
 and handsome, and attracted her; she was 
 handsome and healthy, and attracted him. Their 
 tastes and their aims in life were very like. 
 Solid pleasures appealed to them both, and 
 especially the pleasure of pleasant eating, a 
 taste of which the value for harmony cannot be 
 exaggerated. They both were fond of riding 
 and the open air. Both were easily amused ; no 
 farce ever devised could have kept them from 
 laughing. Both wished above all things to get 
 all the pleasure their incomes could possibly 
 procure ; both were content with the fashion of 
 the moment; both disliked and avoided eccen- 
 tricity. The blood of commercial success and 
 practical wisdom was strong in both. Jack 
 spent an occasional hour on the direction of 
 one of his father-in-law's companies, and fenced 
 for an hour a day. Mildred spent an equal 
 time on the affairs of their house and on her 
 dresses. For the rest of the day they were a 
 good deal in one another's company, eating,
 
 ANOTHER CONVERSATION 13 
 
 seeing their friends, going to the play. Away 
 from London, they lived chiefly in other people's 
 houses, where an efficient sportsman and a jolly 
 and handsome woman were welcome. Occa- 
 sionally they pecked at Paris or Monte Carlo. 
 I do not say theirs was a life of philanthropy 
 or in the vanguard of progress. They were 
 not remarkable for generosity or for loyalty to 
 friends in adversity. Their culture was cer- 
 tainly not of an advanced type. But they were 
 fond of and faithful to one another, and if we live 
 in a state of society in which the home is the 
 unit and the most important consideration, then 
 Jack Ashton and Mildred his wife were almost 
 perfect beings. If we do not so live, there may 
 be something to be said against them : that they 
 were selfish or so, that they were narrow. But 
 what does that matter? In due time the baby 
 arrived, and put a crown on this glory of domes- 
 tic virtue. 
 
 You are privileged to contemplate it at about 
 half-past two in the afternoon, at its home in 
 Eaton Place. Jack Ashton and his wife had 
 finished lunch, a substantial and deliberately 
 considered lunch, and were looking with slightly 
 torpid affection on one another. Jack Ashton
 
 14 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 was dark, sleek, and handsome in (possibly) a 
 somewhat bovine manner. He looked athletic 
 and in good condition, perhaps half a stone or 
 so above his weight. His wife was a very plump 
 but straight and well-made young woman, dark 
 also, with clear, regular, and intelligent features, 
 not quite undistinguished in general effect, well 
 but imposingly dressed, a little lavishly ringed. 
 A letter came for her, and she opened it and 
 read. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! Oh, Jack ! George Ashton 's go- 
 ing to marry ! " 
 
 The two round faces were grave, and Jack 
 stopped eating grapes in salute to the bad news. 
 
 " There goes my chance ! " he said ; " but of 
 course it was always likely. Damn, though." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. He used to shut himself 
 up so at Rowe. Of course I never wished him 
 any harm still, you were the next It is 
 cruel Oh, Jack, guess whom he 's going to 
 marry ! " Her melancholy gave way to excite- 
 ment. " It 's too extraordinary." 
 
 "Who? He used to go about with Lady 
 Tremayne. She 's married though. Who is it? " 
 
 " You '11 never guess. Nelly Canover ! " 
 
 " No! By Jove, though, what ! Nelly Can-
 
 ANOTHER CONVERSATION 15 
 
 over ! She '11 make Rowe sit up, though, won't 
 she?" 
 
 " I cut her only a month ago," said Mildred, 
 reflectively, "when Lucy Skeffington wouldn't 
 speak to her. I thought it best on the whole, 
 and now Mrs. Ashton writes calmly to say her 
 son's going to marry her. It's ajar for her 
 George's mother isn't it?" She laughed 
 mirthfully, and comfortably added, " I always 
 hated her." 
 
 " Poor old lady, she has n't been bad to you. 
 Milly." 
 
 " Oh, she presented me when we married, and 
 gave me those stones. But she always seems 
 to snub me. I can stand alone now. I wonder 
 about those jewels of hers, though. They're 
 not heirlooms, are they?" 
 
 "No! why?" 
 
 " Why, don't you see, she 's sure to quarrel 
 with Nelly Canover, and why should n't she 
 leave them to me? That would be something, 
 if I can't be Mrs. Ashton of Rowe. Her money 
 too One can't tell." 
 
 Jack Ashton was lost in the practical young 
 woman's ready acceptance of the situation. The 
 taste of it may have escaped him, or he may
 
 16 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 have recognised the beautiful confidence in 
 himself which made it possible. 
 
 " But fancy George Ashton," she continued ; 
 "what could have made him do it?" 
 
 " Oh, she 's pretty enough when all 's said 
 and done." 
 
 " But a man who lives alone on his place 
 nine months in the year " 
 
 " George is n't a saint, all the same. Besides, 
 any man might fall in love with her." 
 
 " How did he know her? " 
 
 " I don't know ; I remember now Skeffington 
 told me he often met him there." 
 
 " Do you think he knows all about her? " 
 
 "George?" asked the sagacious Jack, " Oh, 
 he must. After all, it 's only that she 's been 
 mixed up with a few men who have n't the best 
 reputation in the world. There 's nothing very 
 definite against her." 
 
 Mrs. Jack compressed her lips. " H'm ! " 
 she said. " Well, I '11 go and call on the Cano- 
 vers this afternoon." 
 
 " Will she like it after your cutting her? " 
 
 " Oh, that was a mistake. She can't do with- 
 out me, under the circumstances, and it's no 
 use our being at feud with Rowe."
 
 ANOTHER CONVERSATION 17 
 
 "By Jove," her husband remarked, after a 
 pause, " I should n't be surprised if she bolted 
 at the church-door or something. She's wild 
 enough." 
 
 Mildred smiled but shook her head. " She 
 can't be such a fool. And with a man like 
 George it's no use trying anybody's trying 
 to break it off." She sighed as a resigned 
 sufferer. 
 
 " But they 're sure to quarrel afterwards. 
 Perhaps after all " here Jack remembered his 
 magnanimity and delicacy "but hang it, it's 
 not our business. We must try to make things 
 comfortable, you know." 
 
 " Ye es," said his wife. She leaned her 
 cheek on her hand and toyed with the grapes 
 on her plate, meditating. Then brightly she 
 rose and went across to her husband. 
 
 " Well, old boy, we must cheer ourselves up. 
 We '11 dine out to-night. Most of the dinner 
 will do for lunch to-morrow. We '11 dine some- 
 where together and go to a play." She patted 
 her husband's cheek; he took the cigar from 
 his mouth, and they kissed one another. Let 
 us leave them in this position of domestic 
 tenderness.
 
 1 8 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 A WOMAN'S REFLECTIONS 
 
 1000 LOWNDES STREET, S. W. 
 Tuesday. 
 
 DEAR GEORGE, I congratulate you on attaining 
 the wish of your heart and wish you every happiness 
 with all mine. When shall I meet Miss Canover? 
 Soon, I hope. I used to know her mother some cen- 
 turies ago, and feel a very old, old woman. I go down 
 to Beckley to hunt for a fortnight to-morrow, but hope 
 when I return you will, when you are in town, bring 
 Miss Canover to see your ancient friend. My best 
 remembrances, please, to Mrs. Ashton, and Believe 
 me, Ever sincerely yours, 
 
 CLARA TREMAYNE. 
 
 IT was a commonplace letter enough, but 
 when Lady Tremayne had finished it, she paused 
 to consider its fitness. She read it through 
 twice, and then threw it down. She looked 
 rather vacantly before her, then quickly folded 
 and addressed it. As she rose from the small
 
 A WOMAN'S REFLECTIONS 19 
 
 bureau in a corner of her long, twisted drawing- 
 room it took advantage of the angle in a 
 corner-house and walked towards the fire, 
 she seemed as you would guess from her 
 allusion to her old age very young for her 
 thirty-five years. She was tall, slender, and 
 her face, a little long in feature, was of a beauty 
 that, for want of the right word, we call intellec- 
 tual and spiritual. Though she walked erect 
 and firmly, there was about her some suggestion 
 of ethereal mystery. Whether, if you saw her 
 hunting, and not, as now, in a sweeping tea- 
 gown, the suggestion would be gone or would 
 be intensified, I cannot tell. But I think such 
 women as Lady Tremayne (whom I cannot 
 hope to describe) carry always in their air, 
 even in their intimate speech, a reserve which 
 the perceptive know to be inevitable, and the 
 coarse-grained either do not see or cannot 
 tolerate. One assumes breeding, of course: 
 there is another reserve, which is an infallible 
 criterion of something to be avoided. Lady 
 Tremayne was a sportswoman, a woman of 
 brains, a woman of the world. When Jack 
 Ashton, a casual acquaintance, met her, it never 
 crossed his mind that she was less open to him
 
 20 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 than he to her; to Mildred Ashton she was 
 detestable. 
 
 She sat in a low chair before the fire, and 
 mused on her life. It was not the life of a 
 heroine or a martyr. She had not married 
 Sir Maurice Tremayne, her senior by nearly 
 twenty years, to save her father from ruin or 
 to educate her younger brothers. She married 
 him, when she was twenty-seven, because she 
 liked him, because she was tired of her mode 
 of life, because she hated poverty, because she 
 knew her world and saw in the future life no 
 marvellous potentialities for which to forego 
 this apparent^ certainty. In a way she was 
 fortunate. Sir Maurice Tremayne was a soldier, 
 interested in his profession and in politics. 
 His wife gave him all, with one exception, 
 which he had wished for and expected; to 
 perform his part of the arrangement was no 
 task to a courteous and even-tempered gentle- 
 man. Her love of hunting, which he under- 
 stood, he gratified; her love of books, which 
 he did not understand, he did not obstruct. 
 But there assiduity ended. She had borne him 
 no child, and he felt no overpowering admiration 
 for her mind or body. It was better so per-
 
 A WOMAN'S REFLECTIONS 21 
 
 haps; a grey life is better than a yellow life 
 of jealous trials, or a black life of unacceptable 
 and constant love-making ; but grey Lady Tre- 
 mayne's life indubitably was. She had the 
 keen but fleeting delight of hunting, she had 
 the equable delight of a literary taste which 
 cared nothing for fevered crazes. She was not 
 a profoundly affectionate woman ; but she had 
 power to exercise and power to appreciate a 
 delicate sympathy, and somehow there had 
 come in her way little opportunity for either. 
 
 Into this grey life had come George Ashton. 
 She had known him since her marriage, for 
 Mrs. Ashton was an old friend of her husband, 
 but it was only in the last two or three years 
 that she had known him well. There are minds 
 in these days to whom the mention of a man 
 and a woman proves that a luckless story-teller 
 implies some gross connection. They are 
 minds which, as a poet has said, it is impossible 
 to cleanse or to enlighten one can but say 
 they lie. There was no word or deed of George 
 Ashton and Lady Tremayne concerning one an- 
 other which could have pained Sir Maurice, her 
 lord. They were fast friends. Their attitudes 
 to their fellows were sympathetically diverse, the
 
 22 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 woman's aloof, sorrowful, a little bitter, the 
 man's kindly, a little contemptuous, and aloof. 
 Neither had sown in tears, neither had reaped 
 in joy. Each felt, not very vaguely, what was 
 lacking in the other's content, and each min- 
 istered somewhat to the want, the one knowing 
 surely, but not deeply regretting, that no ministry 
 could be complete, the other knowing, sorrow- 
 fully perhaps, that some other woman, not she, 
 might minister wholly. Their talk was imper- 
 sonal, a little personally so sometimes. They 
 went about together, to the opera, to theatres 
 sometimes, to see pictures. She, a matron and 
 his senior, came to call him by his Christian 
 name. They sat in the park together; they 
 sat together in Lady Tremayne's drawing-room. 
 When they met in society, they talked with one 
 another almost invariably, and of course some 
 people talked about them in the colourless 
 modern manner which may mean nothing, or 
 may mean that nothing matters. 
 
 I am sure that George Ashton would have 
 had no success had he tried to be more than 
 a friend to Lady Tremayne. I am sure that 
 she never suggested to herself a wish that he 
 should try. I am not sure that, had he tried,
 
 A WOMAN'S REFLECTIONS 23 
 
 there would not have been some pleasure in 
 defeating him. He did not try. There are 
 men of facile passions with whom, given mere 
 possibility, intimacy and desire are always 
 joined. They are not of necessity coarse- 
 minded, for intimacy may precede; they are 
 men of facile passions. There are other men 
 with whom intimacy and desire are most often 
 separate they are not the true antithesis of 
 the others, merely another kind of man 
 whom, to speak roughly, sense and spirit (or 
 even, sometimes, the subtle and rare effects 
 of sense) attract in different places. George 
 Ashton was one of these : you may find a cause 
 possibly, but with dubious science, in the sensi- 
 tiveness and delicacy of his mother and his 
 father's exaggerated instinct. He had had 
 more than one commonplace amour, and more 
 than one subtle and searching and (as the 
 world will have it) innocent intimacy with a 
 woman. Clara Tremayne was the last of these. 
 The friendship satisfied George Ashton. I am 
 not sure that the friendship brought with it 
 perfect peace and contentment to the mind of 
 Clara Tremayne. 
 
 At last there happened a thing which had not
 
 24 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 happened before, George Ashton thought. He 
 was in love with and desired to marry a girl 
 whom his best perceptions and intuitions al- 
 lowed him to approve. This time, he told him- 
 self (I regret to say he had a habit, very shock- 
 ing to some people, of thinking about his 
 emotions), these intuitions and perceptions were 
 not in abeyance. It was true that Nelly Can- 
 over had lived a life he thought stupid and 
 rather vulgar, and that there were moments 
 when this fact was apparent in her conversation. 
 But below all that lay a spirit which was frank 
 and loyal, which he could unreservedly admire. 
 So much he told himself, and he added that the 
 delights and graces of her manner meant more 
 so much more ! than a beauty which of 
 course was adorable. Yes ! she was perfect ; 
 it was hopeless to analyse her. Hers was a 
 union to recur to my own brief summary 
 of spirit and sense. He said as much in a more 
 concrete way in his letter of announcement to 
 Lady Tremayne, who of course was delighted 
 by such a consummation. She knew all that 
 the world in general knew of Nelly Canover, 
 whom Mildred Ashton had cut, and she wrote 
 the letter which began this chapter. She had a 
 right to say she was George Ashton's friend.
 
 A WOMAN'S REFLECTIONS 25 
 
 Clara Tremayne sat before the fire and mused 
 on her life. The old life in Northamptonshire 
 in her father's house, the hospitality, the sport, 
 and the kindness, came back to her, and then 
 the sorrow when the place had to be let, and 
 the bitterness (to her mother as well) when her 
 father, who loved his land more than his vanity, 
 insisted on taking a small house near and being 
 his own agent. How they had schemed to 
 avoid going to their old home ! They were 
 unfortunate socially in their tenants, who were 
 neither such as their own poverty could not have 
 affected externally, nor honest tradesfolk who 
 would have respected their birth and been 
 glad of their countenance, but pseudo-" smart " 
 cockneys who had made a showy marriage for 
 the son of the house, and felt sure of the County 
 without them. Clara Bruce-Chatterton retired 
 into the world of books. Then one day Sir 
 Maurice Tremayne, the famous and the rich, 
 came home from India, to stay with his old 
 friend in the small house, and the girls of the 
 big house spread their nets before his eyes. I 
 am not sure that the rebuke to those young per- 
 sons was not one of the many reasons why Clara 
 Bruce-Chatterton married him. Then came the
 
 26 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 routine of the last eight years courtesy, deco- 
 rum, quietude, the grand manner. Ah ! All 
 her life, she mused, she had had the protec- 
 tion and guiding that she needed less than most 
 women, and had missed something intangible. 
 
 Back came her thoughts definitely to George 
 Ashton. That boy since his engagement, 
 he was steadily more youthful in her mind 
 that boy had been a pleasant companion ; 
 he was intellectual, sympathetic, tactful. He 
 had often been unhappy; she had tried to be 
 a helpful friend to him. He was very clever, 
 very straightforward, affectionate, and thought- 
 ful for other people. What a shame if he were 
 throwing his life away. Nelly Canover perhaps 
 was only innocently fast: she was lovely, no 
 doubt; other men had made marriages less 
 hopeful even than this and had not been alto- 
 gether spoiled by them. Since these were her 
 placid and philosophical reflections, it is strange 
 that at this point in them Clara Tremayne 
 burst into tears.
 
 A LONDON INTERIOR 27 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A LONDON INTERIOR 
 
 MAJOR CANOVER began the conversation by 
 ramarking that the soup was vile. He sat at 
 dinner with his two daughters at his house in 
 Victoria Road, Kensington. A bald head and 
 a heavy grey moustache suggested a stage 
 major. His old age was not venerable, but red- 
 faced, irascible, sparkish a major possibly of 
 farce. The beautiful Nelly was slight and ad- 
 mirably graceful. Her hair was red-brown, and 
 her eyes were blue and large and dreamy ; her 
 face was perfectly oval; her nose was straight 
 and rather short ; her ears were minute ; her 
 mouth small, inclined to fulness. A rapt and 
 beautiful angel she might be, or a very pretty, 
 pouting girl. Kate, her elder sister, was a 
 light-haired variety of Nelly, taller, less pretty, 
 thinner. 
 
 " I shall take to dining at the club again," 
 said Major Canover.
 
 28 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " Do," said his elder daughter ; " dinner here 
 costs about seven and six altogether; you can 
 dine at the club for seven and four pence ; Nelly 
 and I can have a penny bun each." 
 
 This gloomy pleasantry was received with an 
 inarticulate expression of suffering impatience 
 by the Major, but Nelly laughed. " Poor old 
 man," she said, " was his soup bad then, a 
 dear!" 
 
 " Oh, it 's all very well for you," said Kate ; 
 " you '11 be out of it all in a month. We 've 
 got to stay on here." 
 
 " Yes," the Major added, slowly and half 
 dubiously as he looked at Nelly; "we've got 
 to stay on here." 
 
 " Oh, you '11 come and stay with me," she 
 responded colourlessly. 
 
 "Where's Ashton?" The Major's interest 
 was not entirely hopeful. 
 
 " At Rowe ; he 's coming up to-morrow." 
 
 " I wonder what Mrs. Ashton 's like," Kate 
 said, thoughtfully. 
 
 " I 'm sure she 's a dear, and I 'm going to 
 love her tremendously." 
 
 "Will she go to the dower-house, I wonder? 
 There is a dower-house, isn't there?"
 
 A LONDON INTERIOR 29 
 
 " Really, Kate, how can I say? I hope she '11 
 like to live with me." 
 
 " Oh, well, you know " Kate laughed very 
 slightly. 
 
 "What do you mean?" Her sister was 
 eager. " If you mean I shall do anything 
 against her, you 're wrong. My gratitude to 
 George alone " 
 
 "Gratitude?" 
 
 " Yes, gratitude. I 'm honest in this, Kate." 
 
 " Oh, you know best," Kate said, sourly. 
 
 Major Canover finished his soup, and pulled 
 himself together. He became genial and indul- 
 gent, as always when Kate was cross with Nelly. 
 He liked the favourable contrast. 
 
 " George Ashton 's a good fellow," he said 
 generously. " I think you '11 be happy, my 
 dear. I 've done my best for you. Silver and 
 gold have I none, but such as I have God 
 bless you, my child." He beamed on her in 
 silence, while the parlour-maid put the fish on 
 the table. But circumstances waged against 
 him. "Whiting! if there is a fish on God's 
 earth no, thank you." He rose and stood 
 in front of the fire, lowering until the servant 
 had left the room.
 
 30 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " Whiting ! I slave in the city all day " 
 
 "Oh, dear, dear; it's impossible to please 
 you ; I wish you 'd order the dinner yourself," 
 said Kate. 
 
 " Oh, hang the fish ! " said Nelly. 
 
 " It 's like eating the table-cloth damn thing. 
 What else is there? Boiled mutton, I've no 
 doubt. What? upon my soul " 
 
 " Oh, do talk about something else. Charlie 
 Skeffington 's coming this evening," Nelly in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 " Is he? That reminds me." Major Canover 
 was heavier at once. " What 's this Kate tells 
 me about Lady Skeffington's cutting you? 
 What the devil does she mean?" 
 
 Nelly blushed and looked angrily at Kate. 
 " Oh, nothing, father. It 's only some silly fancy. 
 I don't care. Charlie Skeffington apologised for 
 her." 
 
 "In her name?" asked Kate, with a careless 
 air. 
 
 " Oh, of course you want to make things 
 as unpleasant as possible. It's really nothing 
 father. Don't bother about it." 
 
 " My dear child, if your name got mixed up 
 with Skeffington just as you 're going to be mar-
 
 31 
 
 ried, by Jove, it 's it 's most unfortunate. Why 
 was he always coming here? You ought to have 
 looked after things better, Kate." 
 
 "I?" asked Kate indignantly, "I? You 
 brought Lord Skeffington here and told us par- 
 ticularly to be nice to him. You 'd better speak 
 to him yourself." 
 
 For a moment Major Canover looked as if it 
 were his turn to blush. He cleared his throat, 
 and seemed relieved when the entrance of the 
 parlour-maid put an end to the discussion. The 
 boiled mutton escaped further animadversion, 
 and his voice was cheerful as he said : " I Ve 
 asked a man called Morrison to look in this 
 evening." 
 
 " Who and what is Morrison? " 
 
 " Oh, fellow I met in the city. Vulgar fellow, 
 rather. Rich fellow. Useful fellow at least I 
 hope. Skeffington wants to meet him, by the 
 way. He's not so bad when you know him. 
 Rather heavy in hand, but a good-hearted fellow 
 at least I think he is. He liked to be asked 
 here in an informal way, and that." 
 
 Kate sent a brief and half-contemptuous glance 
 towards her father. Nelly half frowned, and then 
 gave a little sigh of relief. She was to be mar- 
 ried in a month.
 
 32 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 They had not been long in the drawing-room 
 after dinner when Lord Skeffington arrived. His 
 native country, which paid him no rents, had 
 favoured him with blue eyes and black hair; 
 otherwise he looked a commonplace little man, 
 with a little black moustache, with a bright ex- 
 pression, and with a sweet smile, which was frank 
 as he shook hands with Nelly, faded a little for 
 Kate, and took a faint line of irony as he greeted 
 Major Canover. He was followed shortly after- 
 wards by Mr. Morrison, a massive, sallow man, 
 of a measured and somewhat greasy politeness, 
 and a painful appearance of being in " full dress," 
 who began without loss of time to impress his 
 position upon his audience. Soon Nelly Canover 
 and 'Lord Skeffington wandered into the little 
 conservatory which led out of the room, and 
 Skeffington sighed with hearty relief as he sat 
 himself down by her side. 
 
 " What a beast ! What an awful outsider ! " 
 " Father said you wanted to meet him." 
 " Yes, I know. The fact is, you see, I want a 
 bit, and the Major thinks he might part. I must 
 be civil to him ; the Major says I ought to take 
 him to the club, and trot out a few dukes and 
 that sort of thing. It seems beastly mean. It 's
 
 A LONDON INTERIOR 33 
 
 a hard world. But I wanted to talk to you. I Ve 
 had a long jaw with Lucy, and it 's all right. Your 
 engagement, you know, and that She sees what 
 a fool she made of herself, and she told me to 
 say she was sorry. Really, I'm not humbug- 
 ging; it's a proper apology; you know Jack 
 Ashton's wife 's a great pal of hers " 
 
 " Ugh ! " 
 
 " Eh ? Oh, she 's not a bad sort. Rather 
 jolly sort of woman. Good-looking, too ; sport- 
 ing. Jack Ashton 's a decent sort of chap ; sel- 
 fish beggar, but " 
 
 " Oh, never mind them." 
 
 " Well, anyhow it 's all right about Lucy. 
 You '11 forgive her, won't you ? And, Nelly, I 
 want to say something seriously. I 'm infernally 
 sorry if I gave Lucy or anybody else any reason 
 to talk about us. It was stupid of us to go about 
 together so much ; I never think of those things. 
 Now that you 're going to marry, I don't want to 
 spoil the show, you know. Not that I did n't 
 mean to say anything conceited; you under- 
 stand." 
 
 " Dear old Charlie, you 're awfully nice about 
 it. We '11 always be friends." 
 
 " Of course, dear. I wish I knew George 
 3
 
 34 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 Ashton better. I suppose there 's a lot of boodle. 
 Rowe 's an awfully nice place, they say " 
 
 " Look here, Charlie ; don't talk like that. 
 You don't understand. Whatever Mildred Ash- 
 ton or anybody may say, I'm not marrying 
 George Ashton for Rowe, or to get a position, or 
 that. Of course I'm glad to marry; I'm sick 
 of this life ; sick of home, sick of going about at 
 a sort of disadvantage. I 'm grateful to George 
 Ashton, you know I look things in the face, 
 and I know how people talk about me, I'm 
 grateful to him, and I intend to do my share and 
 be a decent wife to him. But I'd marry him 
 anyhow. You and I are good friends, Charlie, 
 but but you see how it is." 
 
 " All right, old girl ; that 's straight. He 's a 
 lucky chap. As for people saying things, that 's 
 all rot. Anybody who 's prettier and more pop- 
 ular than other people 's sure to be talked about ; 
 you Ve always run straight, and you 're going to 
 run straight now. But Rowe is n't Victoria Road. 
 They '11 go on talking, but they won't say things 
 to make you drop 'em when they get round to 
 you. I suppose I Ve been a bad sort of friend 
 to you. I don't think I 'm worse than other 
 people, but I 'm more open, certainly ; and they
 
 A LONDON INTERIOR 35 
 
 don't mince things when they talk about a chap 
 who 's been pongo and has n't a bob. Same with 
 you in a way. You say things you don't mean, 
 and repeat things you don't understand. I 'm 
 not much, I dare say ; but you 've got more grit 
 and more real goodness, by Jove, 
 
 " Eleanor," called Kate, " Mr. Morrison wants 
 to hear you play." 
 
 So they went back to the drawing-room, where 
 Nelly played, and Mr. Morrison gazed at her 
 with heavy admiration, and Major Canover 
 looked paternal, and Skeffington, who could 
 have joked with a man who picked his pocket, 
 became reserved and forgot the money he 
 wanted. 
 
 And now I hope I have given some idea of 
 the antecedents and characters of Nelly Canover 
 and George Ashton, and how it came that they 
 married one another, and of their friends' com- 
 ments thereupon, and of what results might 
 follow.
 
 36 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE START 
 
 THEY were married in February, and started 
 at once for Rowe. Old Mrs. Ashton remained 
 in London ; she was to follow them in a few days 
 and to live in the Dower-house, a course on 
 which from the very first she had insisted. 
 
 In the rush of the weeks in London before the 
 marriage there had been little chance that any 
 firm relation unless it had been one of hostility 
 should be formed between her and her daugh- 
 ter to be. Hostile to one another they certainly 
 were not; that they were become fast friends 
 could not be said. When George Ashton pre- 
 sented Nelly to his mother, the girl was nervous 
 from sheer desire to please, and the older woman 
 had intuition to perceive it; on both sides there 
 was an intention to love. But an intention to 
 love is not generally, so to speak, followed by an 
 accomplishment ; who say it may be will at least
 
 THE START 37 
 
 allow that the schooling in love takes time. In 
 this case both in the bottom of their hearts fore- 
 told a difficulty, which would come from oppos- 
 ing antecedents and modes of thought. How 
 then could they love one another at sight ? 
 George Ashton, who sat in partial and unwise 
 silence during this first occasion of their meet- 
 ing, was vaguely depressed in its progress. The 
 old-world breeding of his mother had not taught 
 her to affect effusive cordiality, beyond that 
 which in courtesy she gave to her own or a fel- 
 low guest. She was gentle and gracious to Nelly 
 Canover ; she was not enthusiastic or embracing. 
 She was kind and open in her manner: she 
 feared, all things considered, that, were it pro- 
 tective, it might offend. On Nelly Canover the 
 effect was one of criticism, kindly criticism, 
 but criticism still. And she, who beyond the 
 trivial insincerities of every woman's life was 
 thoroughly and absolutely frank, from a sense of 
 their intimate relation, and it may be from a pro- 
 testing sense that there was nothing in her life to 
 give her shame, would not try to divine and pro- 
 pitiate the other's prejudices more than civility 
 required as would many a woman, I think, of 
 whom the world speaks better than ever it spoke
 
 38 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 of her. Perhaps there are fewer women than 
 men who admire frankness for its own sake; 
 Mrs. Ashton was not one of them, and the im- 
 pression that something alien was entering her 
 intimate life grew stronger as they talked. 
 
 " She 's very pretty, George," she said after- 
 wards, " more than pretty ; she is beautiful." 
 
 "You you like her, mother?" 
 
 " We shall like one another all the more, dear, 
 for not jumping down one another's throats at 
 first. You must not expect a clever girl who 
 lives in the world and an old recluse of a woman 
 to have every idea in common." 
 
 George sighed, and his mother gave him a 
 quick, half appealing look. 
 
 "I do like her, dear; I admire her very 
 much." 
 
 George kissed his mother, and they talked 
 of something else. 
 
 Jack Ashton had been hearty in his congratu- 
 lations, and so had been Mildred, his wife, but I 
 fear there was little reason in human nature why 
 she and Nelly Canover should love one another. 
 Nelly had ignored the past passage between 
 them with a sort of proud indifference to which 
 the other was not wholly insensible. And Mrs.
 
 THE START 39 
 
 Jack, who wished to be in a position of patron- 
 age towards the mistress of Rowe, and whose 
 method with objects of desire was to seize them 
 with a firm hand, was for once repulsed, not 
 with diplomacy, of which poor Nelly knew little, 
 but with a certain abruptness deserved, it may 
 be, and the less likely to be forgotten. Of 
 George Ashton's friends Lady Tremayne was 
 gone to Ireland before he came to town, and 
 remained there in attendance on her husband, 
 who was ill of a returning ague. But Nelly 
 Canover found a fast friend in Mr. Wilmot, who 
 was charmed, delighted, impressed, and preached 
 her praises abroad. 
 
 " Don't despise old fellows," he had said to 
 her, on the occasion of some self-inspired chaff; 
 " people sometimes listen to their opinions, and 
 even a charming young lady may benefit by an 
 old fellow's good word." The kind light in his 
 eyes showed the sense of the speech, and Nelly 
 liked him. 
 
 " She 's not only beautiful," he said to Mrs. 
 Ashton, " she 's spirited and honest, and I never 
 met a better-bred girl in my life." To George 
 he said, " You 're marrying the most charming 
 girl in England, my boy." George answered he
 
 40 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 would try to be the best husband in England, 
 for his share. To which Mr. Wilmot replied, 
 " I hope you will, my dear fellow," with a 
 momentary seriousness. Large professions ap- 
 peal to the humour of clever young men. " Ah, 
 Francis, we 're all angels," George said, " and 
 it 's a perfect world." And in spite of himself 
 Mr. Wilmot thought for a moment of George's 
 father. 
 
 There had not been very affectionate meet- 
 ings in Victoria Road. A prig and a nonentity, 
 as George Ashton and Kate Canover thought 
 one another, are not likely to be mutually 
 attentive. With Major Canover, George's 
 humour took a touch of the sardonic, and the 
 Major's geniality was some of the hardest work 
 in that well-spent life. It happened also that, 
 on his visits to Victoria Road, George fre- 
 quently encountered Mr. Morrison, and con- 
 ceived a pronounced dislike for that personage. 
 Thank God," he said once, as he left the 
 house, to Nelly in the hall, "you won't see any 
 more of that oily ruffian," and Nelly bit her lip. 
 Of Skeffington he remarked that he seemed a 
 good-hearted little chap, and Skeffington said of 
 him that he was a tremendously clever fellow.
 
 THE START 41 
 
 And at last, after the jumble of all these 
 encounters, Nelly Ashton was on her way to 
 Rowe, leaving friends and enemies and neutral 
 powers behind her. She had consented to go 
 there willingly enough, to the surprise of her 
 father and sister ; she was glad to take her new 
 life at once, to mark a revulsion from gaiety and 
 Monte Carlo. Her husband wished it for a 
 parallel reason ; Rowe, with its rooms and trees 
 and books, that were the symbols of his boy- 
 hood's stages, was aloof from his life in London, 
 and the women therein, and now he was to take 
 the one woman of the world to be a part of it, 
 and his life thenceforth was to be straight and 
 whole. (Acquit him of the prig's egotism ; I 
 but indicate an inarticulate feeling). There was 
 another motive in their coming. George Ash- 
 ton was not a rich man. His house was indeed 
 a show-place, its park was large, and there 
 was a fair shooting; but the land outside 
 had been reduced by the sales of his prede- 
 cessors to a small extent, and what there was 
 brought him in but little money. He had 
 inherited house property in the neighbouring 
 town and money in the funds, some five thou- 
 sand a year in all. But Rowe was an expensive
 
 42 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 place to keep up, and if his wife was to have, as 
 he wished, a short season in town that year, they 
 could hardly go abroad now. It was partly this 
 comparative scarcity of money (for the owner 
 of such a place) that had determined his long 
 sojourn at home. And, by the way, the said 
 comparative scarcity had abated something 
 of the large-heartedness of Major Canover's 
 manner, who had imagined his son-in-law to 
 be about three times as rich as he was, and 
 who had suggested, in a generous way, such 
 settlements on his daughter as would have 
 involved the transference of the whole property 
 to her. It never occurred to George to let his 
 place ; he was a philosopher in theory and of a 
 rare conservatism in sundry practices; he was 
 Ashton of Rowe, which had never been let, and 
 where the reigning Ashton had always lived ; he 
 smiled at the dignity, of course, in homage to 
 the inverted snobbishness of his time, which 
 affects to despise things not mean in a mean 
 way, but he would live at Rowe as his fathers 
 lived. 
 
 It was a cold evening when they arrived at 
 the little station. They sat in silence during the 
 quick drive to the house, and Nelly, peering out
 
 THE START 43 
 
 of the blurred windows of the brougham into 
 the darkness, knew only that they were going 
 through narrow, twisting lanes. She felt a faint 
 tremor when she saw a dim figure courtesy as 
 they went through the gates. As the brougham 
 stopped, her husband pressed her hand, saying, 
 " Welcome to your home, dear." 
 
 Standing at the foot of the broad steps she 
 saw the house stretching dimly on either side of 
 the light streaming from the door, and for a 
 moment a sense of the unknown, the dangerous, 
 came upon her. And then the housekeeper was 
 welcoming her, and her new life was begun.
 
 44 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 
 
 I SHALL not essay to describe the tenderness 
 of the first season of a marriage. " Cras amet 
 qui nunquam amavit, quique amavit eras amet" 
 It is good that there are times when individual- 
 ity, and complexity, and waywardness, and the 
 world are forgotten, and there is nothing to be 
 recorded by a scribbler. George Ashton loved 
 his wife after his fashion, and his wife imagined 
 that she gave him all the love that was in her. 
 They forgot themselves and the world for one 
 another. 
 
 But by-and-bye, you know, as time goes on, 
 oneself and the world will reassert themselves 
 with more and more insistence. Husband and 
 wife who live together must not only kiss but 
 talk to one another, and in this was a certain 
 difficulty. It was easy in London, when the 
 language of love was temporarily forgotten, to
 
 NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 45 
 
 talk of people just met, and places just visited. 
 But there were not many people in whom both 
 were interested ; their few neighbours suggested 
 but short remarks, and the emotions excited by 
 trees and grass do not make for garrulity. The 
 subjects of his larger interests recurred to George 
 Ashton; Nelly's thoughts began to wander to 
 scenes and people indifferent to him. He spent 
 longer hours in his library; she sometimes 
 knitted her brows in striving perplexity while 
 he talked. He had no sort of low pride in 
 superiority of knowledge, but he came to recog- 
 nise that he must consider her capacity in con- 
 versation. Now it was a phrase of which the 
 allusion was lost, now a touch of humour 
 ignored. Spirit and honesty and generosity, 
 which his wife had, may shine in the play of 
 the world ; they are of little use in a dual soli- 
 tude in the country, where one rejoices mostly 
 in the pliability and reciprocity of ideas in which 
 she was to seek. Her beauty was before him ; 
 but when a man who loves his library is coming 
 to think of his wife as a piece of beauty attached 
 to him alack ! Alack, at least, if he cannot be 
 a reasonable animal and take his pleasure sepa- 
 rately here and there. His enthusiasm was not
 
 46 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 gone ; he thought her still incomparable in his 
 experience, and that nothing really important 
 was amiss ; but the wholeness of his ideal was 
 now diminished a little, and alack! for ideals 
 which are diminished. 
 
 Is there some air, some tune, or cadence, 
 which ever, when you chance to hear it, reminds 
 you, not of definite experiences, but of some- 
 thing vaguely fine and lost and regretted? If 
 it come amid the jarring noises of vulgar life, it 
 pains you ; you wish it away ; you would hear 
 it in solitude, at least in silence. Hearing such 
 a tune on the eve of his marriage George 
 Ashton would have taken it for a fitting accom- 
 paniment of triumph ; hearing it now he would 
 have felt that there were things in life that he 
 had lost. And then, looking on his beautiful 
 wife, he would have worshipped her for a 
 minute or two, until other thoughts came back 
 to him. 
 
 What would such a tune have said now to his 
 wife? She had been blithe and gay, taking the 
 moment absolutely, and to such natures reaction 
 comes heavily and of a sudden, opening a glimpse 
 of inarticulate pathos and goes on a sudden 
 again. Meditation brings gloom to such lives as
 
 NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 47 
 
 these, and at Rowe there was occasion for Nelly 
 Ashton to meditate. Save now and then, for 
 some fleeting minutes, she was not happy. She 
 missed more than she knew ; there was present 
 less than she had imagined. 
 
 There was the house and its environment She 
 admired it, and it was unfamiliar. Though it 
 ranked among the most distinguished, it was not 
 of the largest houses in its county ; but it was, 
 for her own, a very large house to Nelly. Except 
 for occasional country visits, she had been ac- 
 customed to small rooms and a house which a 
 voice could penetrate, and time is needed to 
 render large rooms and general spaciousness, 
 stateliness, and silence, friendly and comfortable. 
 When she walked into the large drawing-room, 
 or looked at the pictures in the gallery, she had 
 a vague sense of acting a part and would go 
 back to the little room she had made her own ; 
 going there she would come to the library, 
 pause, and pass it. The servants and the 
 management perplexed her. The housekeeper, 
 who did not like her, worried her with questions ; 
 the French maid she had brought with her 
 brought weeping complaints of the others ; she 
 was sure that money was wasted, and was as 
 yet incompetent to save it.
 
 48 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 The neighbours were a mild distress. She 
 wished to please them for her husband's sake, 
 and had, as I have said, but little diplomacy. 
 The near neighbourhood was sparse ; there was 
 no occasion for the general distinction and 
 superficial eminence and popularity which a girl 
 of her beauty must have had in larger assem- 
 blies. The neighbours were few, and their favour 
 required individual conciliation ; and Nelly 
 failed. Of course some of the men tried to 
 flirt with her, and she, conscious of many in- 
 nocent past flirtations, and overmuch on her 
 guard, repelled them. The women were no 
 more unamiable than the women of any other 
 place. There was much of frank friendship and 
 good comradeship among them, but these were 
 the growth of intimacy and common interests ; 
 a necessary approach was through general 
 topics, and on these Nelly Ashton and they 
 came to deadlocks. She had none of their 
 country interests. Those of them who lived at 
 all in London society had acquaintances, at once 
 less distinguished and more stable than hers, 
 and the fact led inevitably now to jealousy, and 
 now to superiority. They had little for con- 
 versation. For the place in which people live
 
 NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 49 
 
 and common acquaintances being ruled out, 
 what was there? Many of us know it for a fact 
 that the theatres are not an inexhaustible topic. 
 Mrs. Jack Ashton had written to some of her 
 friends, kindly bespeaking their patronage of the 
 new mistress of Rowe, and the tone of her good- 
 natured letters tended to an air of approach that 
 was quickly repulsed. Nelly Ashton, whose 
 beauty had made many men in love with her, 
 and whose honesty and loyalty had made some 
 her fast friends, felt a solitude among her neigh- 
 bours in the country. 
 
 Already, then, the tune of her ideals, if she 
 had heard such a thing in the midst of her 
 neighbours, might not have made her long to be 
 alone with her husband might have made her 
 think that her life in the past, the life of which 
 she had thought herself weary, had pleasant 
 spots in it for memory. And by some vague 
 association it might have brought to her mind a 
 little black-haired Irishman, with blue eyes and 
 a sweet smile, who had never failed to understand 
 her, and whom it was not hard to understand. 
 
 Between her husband's mother and her there 
 was perplexity. To the older woman this was 
 a dashing girl who had seen a great deal of the
 
 50 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 world and must find the manipulation of Rowe 
 and its neighbourhood a bagatelle. She told 
 herself it was wise to leave the dower-house as 
 little as might be, that the best way to stand 
 well with her son's wife and keep her place in 
 her son's life was to avoid interference and 
 advice. She talked to Nelly of their neigh- 
 bours, in a simple fashion, keeping much to the 
 facts; to advise her how to deal with this or 
 that one of them hardly occurred to her. Nelly, 
 on the other hand, would have welcomed Mrs. 
 Ashton's advice, and was distressed that it was 
 not given. She admired her manner sincerely. 
 " When I am old, George," she said once, " I 
 shall be very different from your mother. 
 Women like her are not made now." She 
 would have welcomed a kindly interest without 
 a touch of vanity. But it was not offered. She 
 was treated with studious equality, and she felt 
 as a result that she was on a trial and that to 
 court assistance was to confess defeat. " His 
 people hate our marriage, and want me to fail," 
 she thought. 
 
 In this she was biased by the remembrance 
 of Mildred Ashton, her undisguised patronage, 
 and the look of amused toleration she had
 
 NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 51 
 
 adopted when repulsed. She had every possible 
 right, she reflected, to resent the patronage of 
 Mrs. Jack, who was worse born and worse bred 
 than herself, and had treated her aforetime with 
 calculated rudeness. And yet, she half con- 
 fessed to herself, there was something in 
 Mildred's imperturbable assurance and vigorous 
 success which impressed her and almost made 
 her afraid. She had dreamed one night that a 
 boulder was slowly falling on her, that she 
 pushed it back by a spirited effort two or three 
 times, but that in the end it was pressing her to 
 the earth, and, as she awoke, she saw somehow 
 on the boulder the plump and smiling face of 
 Mrs. Jack. She felt that this woman hated her 
 and would show her no mercy if she tripped. 
 And vaguely she felt that her husband's mother, 
 more kind, would be even more critical, and was 
 in a way on the side of the enemy. 
 
 And so two women who need have had no 
 feeling in the world but kindness for one another 
 stood apart for want of being drawn together. 
 The one would have given her confidence, the 
 other her counsel and help. If the one had 
 said, " Mother, I am young, and this life is new 
 to me ; I want to please you and to be the wife
 
 52 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 you would wish for your son ; " or if the other 
 had said, " My daughter, I am an old woman, 
 and have had a special experience; you must 
 not be hurt if I try to make it of use to you ; " 
 then they would have embraced and been 
 friends. But no such thing was said. The old 
 woman, tender and lovable, thought with a sigh 
 she was not needed ; the girl, lovable and brave, 
 thought she was left to stand alone. So her 
 half helplessness, trivial in the scheme of things 
 and accidental, oppressed her. 
 
 But she had her husband? Ah, yes, and, you 
 know, they had married for love. Passionate 
 love there had been on one side, self-convinced 
 love there had been on the other. 
 
 They sat after dinner one night in the long 
 low dining-room, with its oak and portraits and 
 high-backed chairs, Nelly pale and a little tired, 
 George meditative and slightly fidgeting. The 
 butler, a thin old man, stooping and white- 
 haired, had finished his rounds, and conversation, 
 which had to be raised for the length of the 
 flowered table, became more possible. It was 
 six weeks after their marriage. 
 
 " Oh, George, I heard from Kate this after- 
 noon."
 
 NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 53 
 
 "Yes? Quite well, I hope?" he looked up 
 languidly. 
 
 " Oh, yes. She talks about coming down." 
 
 " Oh, well it will cheer you up, dear." 
 
 " I don't want that. You don't mind her 
 coming? " 
 
 " Why, of course not. I 'm afraid it 's rather 
 a dull place for her, though." 
 
 "I " began Nelly, but she looked em- 
 barrassed, and there was a pause. Then: 
 
 " Oh, and George, father wrote too. He 
 he wants me to lend him some money. I 'm 
 awfully sorry to bother you about it. He says 
 something about a judgment summons " 
 
 George laughed slightly, but quite without 
 irritation. 
 
 " My dear girl, don't think it necessary to 
 apologise. I daresay I 'm often a bore, but I 'm 
 really not mean. If it gives you any pleasure 
 to send the Major money, do by all means. Is 
 it much?" 
 
 " Fifteen pounds. But I 'm afraid I " 
 
 " But you have n't any money in the bank. 
 I '11 give you a cheque to-morrow to-night if 
 you like. I can't pledge myself to the view that 
 it will necessarily do the Major any good, but
 
 54 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 of course, dear, you wish to help him. Will he 
 come down, by the way?" 
 
 " Kate says something about it. But if you 'd 
 rather rather " 
 
 " I don't know why you should seem to think 
 I want to be rude to your people. There 's noth- 
 ing much for him to do, and as you know I 'm not 
 much good at amusing people. But I '11 do my 
 best." 
 
 " George, have I offended you ? " 
 
 " No, no, dear I 'm rather headachy, that 's 
 all I think I read too long to-day. Only 
 please don't think I don't want to welcome 
 your people." 
 
 " No, George, I know." 
 
 She looked distressed. George drank a glass 
 of port, and rilled another. 
 
 " By the way," he said, " there 's another offer 
 to mitigate our loneliness. Jack's written sug- 
 gesting that, when we 've got over our honey- 
 moon, as he kindly puts it, he and his wife 
 would like to come down for a few days." 
 
 Nelly looked up quickly and compressed her 
 lips. 
 
 " It 's nice of her to give me her cachet. Per- 
 haps she might have written to me."
 
 NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 55 
 
 " Oh, my dear girl, don't talk like that. 
 They 're perfectly harmless, amiable people. 
 They 're easy to entertain : when they 're not 
 eating, they 're cultivating their appetites. We 
 won't have them if you don't like, but I think 
 they might come for a few days." 
 
 " Oh, of course, George, that 's all right." 
 
 There was another pause. 
 
 "Any one called to-day?" asked George. 
 
 " Only Mrs. Trenderham. She came when 
 you 'd gone out to walk." 
 
 " Frightful bore ; why did n't she call before, 
 though?" 
 
 " She said she 'd been away. We we did n't 
 seem to have much to say to each other. 
 George, I 'm not a success with your neighbours.*' 
 
 " Oh, nonsense. Besides, if you were n't, what 
 does it matter? I don't care two-pence about 
 them. Of course, one or two are old friends of 
 my mother's. They 're fogies, most of them, but 
 you '11 like them well enough in time " 
 
 "Mrs. Howlet" (the venerable housekeeper) 
 " did n't like my arrangement of the drawing- 
 room. I 'm afraid I 'm in her black books." 
 
 George was stirred for a moment. 
 
 " What infernal impertinence ! If she does
 
 56 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 that sort of thing she '11 have to go. You know 
 she 's been here twenty years ; it 's natural she 
 should think the place belongs to her. But we 
 shall have to pension her off or something. I '11 
 talk to her to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, no, George, please don't. Of course it 
 does n't matter. I only thought it would amuse 
 you." 
 
 She smiled rather wearily, and rose to go. 
 As her husband held the door for her, she turned 
 her face to his, and he saw her big eyes were 
 full of tears. 
 
 " My dearest, what is it ? I know, dear, you 're 
 bored down here; it's natural enough. We'll 
 go abroad for a bit; we'll start to-morrow if 
 you like." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; I want to stay here ; I want to 
 love the place I wish it would love me." 
 
 She looked at him appealingly and with a 
 quivering mouth, and he swung the door back 
 again and took her in his arms, and so for a 
 moment any approach to quarrelling there 
 had been was merged. 
 
 When she was gone, he walked about the 
 room, his mouth slightly working, and looked 
 now and again at a portrait and seemed to think.
 
 NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 57 
 
 Then he sat at the table and gradually finished 
 the bottle of port. 
 
 A fortnight later Kate and Major Canover 
 arrived. Their visit was not a triumph. Kate 
 thought the neighbours tedious, and was inclined 
 to talk London over their heads. The Major's 
 walks with his son-in-law became more and more 
 silent. Both he and Kate were disappointed in 
 the size of the place. Their call at the dower- 
 house began in geniality and ended in frigidity. 
 Neither Nelly nor George was sorry when they 
 left for town. 
 
 And after a month Mrs. Jack Ashton and her 
 husband descended upon Rowe. It was a far 
 more difficult thing for Nelly to resist her patron- 
 age here than in London. Mrs. Jack had made 
 two long visits before, and with vigorous interest 
 had gained a complete knowledge of the place, 
 and seemed to feel no delicacy whatever in 
 showing that it was superior to Nelly's. She 
 walked her hostess about the house and the 
 gardens, and stopped to ask the gardener about 
 his family, and to speak to the coachman's wife, 
 with whose domestic sorrows she was fully ac- 
 quainted. She was perfectly good-natured when
 
 58 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 good nature cost her nothing, and was popular 
 with all these people. Nelly, a little thin now, 
 and fatigued, looked like a mere attendant on 
 the substantial and bustling Mrs. Jack, with her 
 air of kind-hearted proprietress. 
 
 George saw nothing of this. His cousin's 
 wife amused him; she talked to him gaily and 
 with deference for his book learning ; it may be 
 that, dimly and unconsciously, her robust comeli- 
 ness attracted him. She visited the dower- 
 house every day, and aired a sweetly affection- 
 ate respect for Mrs. Ashton, who was not a 
 cynic. 
 
 With the neighbours she was extremely popu- 
 lar. They all came to call on her ; she remem- 
 bered their affairs, and talked their talk. In 
 truth, Mrs. Jack Ashton was the star of that 
 district of Hampshire for a week, and it was one 
 of the most miserable in Nelly's short life. On 
 the last day of it there was a small dinner at 
 Rowe House, and Nelly felt it to be a climax. 
 She sat between a deaf old man and a middle- 
 aged admirer, rejected and sulky, and she heard 
 incessantly the cheerful tones of Mrs. Jack's 
 emphatic voice, and, whenever she looked up, 
 saw Mrs. Jack dispensing smiles and interested
 
 NELLY ASHTON AT ROWE 59 
 
 glances. However, on the next day Mrs. Jack 
 returned to town, smiling to the last, and leaving 
 regrets behind her. 
 
 And at length, in May, George Ashton and 
 his wife went up to London for the season, each 
 with a secret hope that what had been amiss at 
 Rowe would there be righted.
 
 60 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 AN AFTERNOON IN TOWN. 
 
 GEORGE ASHTON had taken a little furnished 
 house in Half-Moon Street. There was not 
 much to arrange in it, and on the day after their 
 arrival Nelly Ashton was at home, and sat in 
 the small and prettily furnished drawing-room 
 wondering if anybody would call. Lord Skef- 
 fington had written to her a week before, for the 
 first time since her marriage, and she had told 
 him of her plans in her answer. His letter was 
 merely that of a simple correspondent, relating 
 the bald facts of his movements, asking her how 
 she was, lamenting finally the loss of her society. 
 She had begun, as you have read, to think some- 
 what wistfully of Skeffington, of the unreflecting 
 good fellowship and the unquestioned pleasures 
 the idea of him recalled. She thought so of him 
 now, as she looked out on the street and smelt 
 the mental atmosphere of London that sense
 
 AN AFTERNOON IN TOWN 61 
 
 of familiar business or idleness renewed, of throng- 
 ing associations, and of sympathetic humanity, 
 which comes so gratefully to country-wearied 
 cockneys. Ah, the country and the new shel- 
 tered life, and the higher plane, and rarified 
 joys, and seemly traditions! And ah, the 
 dinners and theatres and flirting looks and whisk- 
 ing hansom cabs ! And ah, poor Nelly Canover 
 who was, who had been wearied of these 
 symbols, so full of sacred expectancy! She 
 drummed on the carpet with her foot, she kept 
 time to a street organ. Dear old Charlie Skef- 
 fington, how delightful to see him again ! Of 
 course he was not an equal of her husband, but it 
 is pleasant to see old friends. Perhaps he would 
 call that afternoon. 
 
 She wondered if anybody else would. Her 
 father, perhaps, and Kate. Possibly Mildred 
 Ashton, to a friend of whom the house in Half- 
 Moon Street belonged, and who therefore knew of 
 the arrival, and would be sure to come presently 
 to inspect and to patronise. Nelly glanced half 
 nervously round as she thought of it, and then 
 thought how absurd she was. It was so idiotic 
 to feel a dim rivalry between herself and Mrs. 
 Jack, so utterly idiotic to feel dimly afraid of her.
 
 62 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 Why should she be hated, and how could she be 
 injured by this woman ? It was absurd. And 
 yet she knew that she was hated, and felt vaguely 
 that she must stir herself to fight against injury. 
 She felt the discomfort of the weaker will. There 
 was something strong in Mildred Ashton, some- 
 thing that seemed to bear her down. She owned 
 to herself that in Hampshire she had not in the 
 end resisted the other's patronage, had suffered 
 herself to be treated as an object of superior 
 good-nature, and as she owned it she stamped 
 with irritation. In what conceivable point was 
 she Mildred's inferior? She walked to a glass 
 and looked on a face of perfect, romantic beauty. 
 In what conceivable manner could she be over- 
 come by Mrs. Jack, with her commonplace, 
 coarse good looks (so she honestly thought 
 them), with her loud laugh and pushing air? 
 She sat down in frowning thought. Of course, 
 if she had a son, Jack Ashton and his wife or 
 their child would not have Rowe, and for such a 
 reason as that Mrs. Jack, who had a reputation 
 for hearty good-nature, hated her how pitiably 
 mean ! And here Nelly's mouth puckered, and 
 she looked very sad. Perhaps her beauty was 
 the cause, how vilely contemptible !
 
 AN AFTERNOON IN TOWN 63 
 
 In spite of woman's vanity, it is a fact that she 
 did not fancy that her own fineness of nature 
 and essential delicacy which the commoner 
 and shrewder woman roughly perceived were a 
 further motive, equal at least to her beauty, and 
 that the patronage and self-assertion were to such 
 a woman a necessary consequence. She would 
 not think about it, but with the effort to send it 
 from her mind there rose the more clearly the 
 image of Mrs. Jack Ashton, smiling and prosper- 
 ous, waiting for an opportunity to injure her, 
 strong and merciless to use it. The unsuccess 
 on which she had brooded had touched her 
 nerves, and she gave a gesture of despair the 
 despair of the brave who do not know where to 
 strike in defence. 
 
 Lord Skeffington saw it as he followed the ser- 
 vant into the room. Nelly, who was sitting with 
 her back to the door, jumped up and held out her 
 hands. " Oh, Charlie, how jolly to see you." 
 
 "Well, dear, glad to see your old pal?" He 
 had intended to recognise the new position of 
 things by a more formal mode of address ; but 
 friends are friends, and Irish Irish. " By Jove, 
 Nelly, it seems a thousand years since I saw 
 you. How are you? Let me look. H'm my
 
 64 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 dear, you 're pale, and you look tired. The 
 journey, I suppose. But the country ought to 
 have done you more good than that. You 're 
 thinner " 
 
 " Oh, never mind me. I am longing to hear 
 about you about everything. Who was at 
 Monte? Your letter only repeated the post- 
 mark over again. All the old set?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, rather a clipping time on the whole. 
 Poor old Billy had a new system, and it was the 
 greatest joke in the world to see him and little 
 what's-her-name you know " 
 
 And so they talked the old talk, the talk of in- 
 nocent, irresponsible worldlings, and Nelly's eyes 
 grew brighter as she renewed the good time when 
 she was so miserable. Here was no puzzling for 
 a meaning, no wrong construction one could not 
 explain. She laughed freely, and everything 
 seemed indifferent and amusing. But by-and- 
 bye Skeffington, who was no egotist, insisted on 
 hearing of her life in the country. He put his 
 questions with a grave appreciation, without a 
 sign of the appalling boredom the answers sug- 
 gested to him, and Nelly therefore could the 
 more easily indicate, without consciousness of 
 disloyalty, that all her way had not been roses.
 
 AN AFTERNOON IN TOWN 65 
 
 But she did not go far. The most was, " Charlie, 
 I feel rather as if I 'd not given satisfaction, don't 
 you know to the place, of course, I mean. 
 I 'm not cut out for the sort of thing. I hoped 
 I should be able to but I 'm afraid I don't 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ; you '11 take to it all right in 
 time. When I was young well, when I came 
 over from Ireland for the first time to go to Eton 
 I daresay I did n't seem cut out for a life of 
 bankruptcy and dissipation." He gave his pleas- 
 ant little laugh. "But I've got on very well at 
 it all the same." 
 
 " Poor old Charlie, I think there 's a fate against 
 us both. We ought to be pals." 
 
 At this point there was heard a resolute knock 
 at the hall door, and Nelly's gaiety suddenly for- 
 sook her. " Oh, I do believe that 's Mildred 
 Ashton." 
 
 "That's Jack Ashton's wife, isn't it? Jolly 
 woman, I always thought her." 
 
 " Oh ! she 's she 's we shall never be 
 friends." 
 
 Skeffington smiled a smile of that toleration 
 with which men hear of feminine animosities. 
 " You 're different styles, certainly," he said, 
 
 5
 
 66 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 It was indeed Mrs. Jack who sailed into the 
 room with a loud and cheerful greeting. Skef- 
 fington, observing the kindness of her manner 
 towards Nelly, was confirmed in his opinion of 
 her good-nature. 
 
 " I hoped I should be the first to come to you," 
 she said. " But Lord Skeffington has beaten 
 me. How are you?" turning to him, "and 
 how's my dear Lucy?" 
 
 " Oh, all right, thanks ; she could n't come 
 with me to-day because she had to go to her 
 mother." 
 
 " I see, and you could n't wait," said Mrs. 
 Jack with a faint smile, as she settled herself 
 comfortably and, observing the entrance of tea, 
 took off her gloves. There was silence for a 
 moment, and she kept her eyes on her white 
 and much-ringed hands. 
 
 " Yes, please, dear ; lots of cream and two 
 lumps of sugar. Rowe looking as lovely as 
 ever?" She began a series of questions about 
 the country, to which Nelly replied rather ner- 
 vously, whilst Skeffington, feeling bored, handed 
 cups and things, and listened. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Ashton coming to town at all ? " 
 
 " Yes, in a few days. She 's going to present 
 me on my marriage, you know."
 
 AN AFTERNOON IN TOWN 67 
 
 " Oh, I 'm so glad," said Mrs. Jack, and Nelly 
 bit her lip, and had no rejoinder to Mrs. Jack's 
 quite superfluous gladness. 
 
 "Have you been presented before? No? 
 Well, if you want any tips I shall be glad to 
 coach you." 
 
 She herself had barely emerged from her 
 chrysalis at Highgate at the time of her mar- 
 riage, and had been presented for the first time 
 by Mrs. Ashton, but the fact did not disturb her 
 complacent superiority in the least. Again, to 
 rejoin was to assume a rather vulgar level of 
 social ambition. Skeffington saw nothing in 
 the remark but a reasonable kindness in an 
 unimportant matter. Mrs. Jack's air of success 
 was intensified. 
 
 Presently Skeffington took his leave, and she 
 said good-bye to him with something in her 
 manner of the cold finality of a displeased 
 chaperon, which he did not notice, but which 
 Nelly perceiving coloured. 
 
 She made her own manner the friendlier in 
 consequence. 
 
 " Good-bye, Charlie ; come again soon. You 
 must come and dine, and Lady Skeffington, if 
 she will."
 
 68 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 When the door closed behind him, Mrs. Jack 
 looked at Nelly with eyebrows slightly, but 
 perceptibly, raised. 
 
 " Poor Lord Skeffington ! What a pity he 's 
 so wild." 
 
 " I never heard of his doing any harm to a 
 soul." 
 
 " Oh, no, of course not. Still he is wild, 
 isn't he? What silly people call a dangerous 
 man. You know Lucy Skeffington 's one of 
 my greatest friends. Poor dear. Thanks, I '11 
 have another cup. Don't get up. Oh, thanks. 
 It 's frightfully greedy, but I '11 have some more 
 cake." 
 
 As Nelly stood in front of her with the cake 
 she looked up at her smiling and said with de- 
 liberation : " Now, tell me honestly, did you find 
 your life at Rowe everything you expected? " 
 
 Nellie looked down at the plump inquisitor. 
 She believed the intention was impertinence, 
 but the tone and the look were kind. 
 
 " Thank you, everything," she said, and went 
 back to her seat a little abruptly. 
 
 " Well, that 's all right. You see, dear, I Ve 
 married an Ashton myself; so I can talk about 
 it, can't I? They're all delightful, of course,
 
 AN AFTERNOON IN TOWN 69 
 
 but you know they're full of old-fashioned 
 prejudices. Some of Jack's ideas are ridiculous. 
 They don't understand new customs at all. One 
 has to be old-fashioned about some things. I 
 have n't offended you ? " 
 
 " Why should you have?" 
 
 " That 's right You know what I mean. 
 Old Mrs. Ashton and I have great confidences. 
 She 's an old dear, but in some things she 
 belongs to centuries ago. People like our 
 friend Lord Skeffington would frighten her 
 dreadfully." She laughed and concentrated 
 her attention on her slice of cake. 
 
 " I don't think I quite understand what you 
 mean." 
 
 " Only that I think we must study those kind 
 of prejudices, mustn't we? You see, I Ve had 
 some experience of the family, and I thought 
 it would be kind to give you the benefit of it 
 I only meant in a general way, of course. I 
 should like to do anything I can for you." 
 
 " It 's very good of you, but about " 
 
 " Oh, not at all," interrupted Mrs. Jack 
 hastily; " but I must be moving on. One must 
 make the most of a day like this in town, 
 mustn't one? " She bustled and gave Nelly no
 
 70 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 opportunity to speak. " Good-bye, dear ; come 
 and see me soon." She held out her hand, and 
 Nelly, as she took it, felt that it had struck her. 
 So in a cloud of benevolence and affability Mrs. 
 Jack departed. Nelly walked to the window 
 and looked out despairingly. She watched Mrs. 
 Jack get into her smart victoria, who looked up 
 and waved her hand. Nelly did not smile back, 
 and Mildred, seeing the sorrowful face, drove 
 away radiant, as one who in a virtuous manner 
 enjoyed a victory. 
 
 Coming in a few minutes later, George Ashton 
 found his wife still standing at the window. 
 " Mildred 's been here," she said. 
 
 "I know, I saw her in the street and she 
 stopped to speak. Sorry I was out." 
 
 " Do you like her, George ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, pretty well. She 's a very good- 
 natured woman." 
 
 "/rshe?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I 'm sure she is. I know you don't 
 like her; I wish you did, rather. I've never 
 seen anything in her manner that is n't perfectly 
 friendly, and my mother approves of her. I 
 don't suppose she 's particularly delicate or sens- 
 itive and that sort of thing. That 's largely a
 
 AN AFTERNOON IN TOWN 71 
 
 question of brains. Still, she means well ; 
 she's a very good wife and mother and all 
 that. Not particularly cogent reasons for de- 
 lighting in her society, perhaps, but I really 
 can't see how she 's offensive." 
 
 " All right, George ; I daresay I 'm foolish 
 about her. George, do you object to my 
 friendship with Charlie Skeffington?" 
 
 George put down his cup gravely. " Object? 
 You talk as if I were a Turk. You are the best 
 judge of what society pleases you." 
 
 The remark was enlightened, and yet somehow 
 it seemed to give no extraordinary pleasure to 
 his wife. 
 
 " Mildred suggested " 
 
 " Oh, I see, I see. It was very stupid of her. 
 But upon my word, Nelly, I think she meant it 
 kindly. It was the sort of blundering kindness 
 that annoys one more than anything, but I think 
 one ought to forgive it. As for Skeffington, I 
 don't think he 's exactly intellectual, but I 'm 
 not a prig about that. I never heard anything 
 against him except ordinary dissipation, and I 
 don't care two-pence about that either. Has 
 he been here to-day? Sorry I missed him. 
 What shall we do to-night ? Anything?"
 
 72 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " I should like to go to a theatre, I think." 
 
 " Oh, is there anything on that won't bore one 
 to death ? " 
 
 " Oh, we won't go if it bores you. I like the 
 lights and things. But we won't go; I don't 
 care what we do." 
 
 " Oh, yes, we may as well do that as anything. 
 Will you look something out and send down for 
 seats? I must finish something I was writing 
 before dinner." 
 
 He left the room, and Nelly looked up a 
 theatre without interest and sent for seats, and 
 stood again at the window looking out. London 
 had not begun very brilliantly, she thought.
 
 MR. MORRISON 73 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MR. MORRISON 
 
 " IT 'S not a very great favour to grant your 
 old father. I 've worked hard enough for you, 
 my girl." 
 
 Major Canover was quite in earnest, but, like 
 many people of shallow emotions, was unable 
 to express many of them except in the uncon- 
 sciously assimilated methods of the theatre. 
 His daughter Nelly, perhaps from custom, did 
 not doubt his sincerity. They were both 
 troubled, he from genuine anxiety and annoy- 
 ance that a trivial request should be refused, 
 and she because good nature and wisdom said 
 different things. The request was merely that 
 Nelly should accompany him and her sister to 
 dinner with Mr. Morrison and afterwards to a 
 theatre. Her husband was gone into the coun- 
 try for a night, and she had no engagement. 
 
 " Why on earth you can't do a simple thing
 
 74 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 like this I can't conceive. You don't dislike 
 him yourself, do you? " 
 
 I am afraid it was a fact that she did not dis- 
 like Mr. Morrison. I have indicated the atmos- 
 phere in which she had lived, one in which it 
 seemed that to be of expensive habits was the 
 first attribute of a male. Mr. Morrison had this 
 attribute. I have heard it said that if a man is 
 commonly polite in his manners he may pass 
 with many women for a gentleman. Mr. Mor- 
 rison was elaborately polite. Admiration is 
 displeasing to few of us, and Mr. Morrison's 
 admiration was not hidden. And it is possible 
 to be the reverse of vulgar in grain and yet not 
 to escape at once the superficial effects of a 
 vulgar environment. 
 
 " No, I don't, but George hates him." 
 The Major smothered a manly execration. 
 "It's not fair to your husband," he said, and 
 the brilliancy of his diplomacy restored his 
 self-satisfaction, " to treat him as though he were 
 a domestic tyrant God bless my soul! If a 
 man 's going to forbid his wife to speak to her 
 father's friends just because he does n't happen 
 to like them himself, why, she might just as well 
 be a slave. No, no, you do George an injustice.
 
 MR. MORRISON 75 
 
 He does n't happen to like Morrison, who 's a 
 very good fellow, and a rich fellow, mind you, 
 and a man who's done me a service we all 
 have our fads about people. But as for object- 
 ing to your going with your own father and 
 sister to dine with him, why " 
 
 The Major's hands made a gesture of universal 
 generosity and toleration. 
 
 " Father, why should Mr. Morrison be so 
 anxious I should come? " 
 
 "Why? why not? He likes you, I suppose, 
 and admires you, in a respectful sort of way 
 an intellectual admiration." He pronounced 
 the phrase with satisfaction and perhaps did not 
 see in his mind the admirer's heavy sallow face, 
 thick lips, and beady eyes. 
 
 "You see, my dear," he continued, "all it 
 amounts to is, that Morrison has obliged me, 
 and in return I want to make up a pleasant 
 little party for him, and the best way to do so is 
 to get you to come. He '11 give us an excellent 
 dinner, and I suppose he 's taken a box some- 
 where. I 'm sure you won't refuse your old 
 father such a little thing as that? I only want 
 to return Morrison's kindness by giving him a 
 little gaiety. Poor fellow, he does n't get much ;
 
 76 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 does n't know many people, in fact. Well, 
 that's settled, isn't it? We'll call for you at 
 half-past seven." 
 
 " Oh, all right, father; it's not worth making 
 a fuss about." 
 
 The Major went away at once as a wise man. 
 
 It was a month since Nelly and her husband 
 were come to town, a month full of enjoyment 
 for neither of them. George was dissatisfied. 
 The facile pleasures of a stray man had ceased 
 for him, partly as a direct result of his marriage, 
 and partly because his early love for his wife 
 had raised a desire for deeper, finer, and more 
 pervading emotions than these facile pleasures do 
 generally comprise. Some of them were left of 
 necessity, for George Ashton had been married 
 but a few months, and was neither a Moham- 
 medan nor a brute ; and others the little 
 fleeting, innocent games of half-love for example 
 were not for his serious mood. I hope you 
 will not think him a prig when I tell you that in 
 this period the ordinary funny story of masculine 
 conversation jarred upon him. He was still, 
 you see, in the face of an ideal, still on a 
 spiritual plane above the common things: it 
 was only that the ideal grew dim and receded
 
 MR. MORRISON 77 
 
 and was leaving him hopeless. He could not 
 set himself to study ; his books were at Rowe, 
 his little den in Half-Moon Street suggested 
 anything but a proper use of brains. The 
 general run of his friends as sometimes hap- 
 pens with men of intellectual bent and fastidious 
 tastes was not intellectual, and cards and 
 sauntering and stories bored him now. His 
 wife's contingent irritated him. There were 
 professionally clever people who had written 
 books he disliked; there were men of florid 
 habit and experiences trivially cosmopolitan ; 
 there were women who sometimes gushed and 
 sometimes joyed in pointless impropriety. He 
 liked best of them all a few irresponsible, well- 
 bred, and foolish young men, who chaffed with 
 Nelly and could be amiably rude, but he did 
 not invariably contrive to be amused by them. 
 The position of wet blanket in his own drawing- 
 room was terrifying to a sensitive humour, and 
 he betook himself frequently to his club. And 
 there a taste of which no state of our intellects 
 or affections can deprive us came to his rescue, 
 and older men consulted his judgment of wine. 
 It was surely an opportunity for a good in- 
 fluence. He wrote a few abstract letters to
 
 78 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 Lady Tremayne. But she was still in Ireland. 
 One doubts, however, if, at thirty, the influence 
 on a man of such a woman is so potent as it is 
 known of all men to be at twenty. One thinks 
 perhaps that a girl, good, gay, clever, and un- 
 tempered by experience a girl to make cynics 
 blush and misogynists hide their heads might 
 have been a star to him. Nelly Canover had 
 been his star, and somehow, when he had taken 
 and fitted it to a household lamp, the light 
 which had burned so brightly seemed to lan- 
 guish, and there was a little smoke or so about 
 the edges. Give him your pity. 
 
 And Nelly the while was dissatisfied with a 
 dissatisfaction the deeper for a vague self-blame 
 which did not occur to the lord of creation. 
 The displeasure with many of her friends which 
 she discovered in her husband was incompre- 
 hensible to her. Of old, when Skeffington or 
 another had objected to this or that man, that 
 he was an " outsider," she had referred their 
 criticism to masculine vanity and rivalry, and 
 laughed. Being conscious now that she gave 
 her husband no ghost of a reason for jealousy, 
 she did not understand his objections. " A man 
 does not make himself a gentleman by keeping
 
 MR. MORRISON 79 
 
 a private cab and spending two pounds on his 
 dinner," he had said, and Nelly's sharp "of 
 course not" conveyed a suspicion that the 
 undeniable assertion had been put fallaciously. 
 " I don't see that the social qualification of a cad 
 is improved by his having written a caddish 
 book." "He's frightfully clever;" "Which 
 makes him more ingeniously maddening." 
 "Oh, dear; oh, dear!" 
 
 Skeffington and others had refrained from 
 criticising the women of her friends. With a 
 few of them her husband seemed to be in some 
 sort of accord. But once, when two of them had 
 left them, he said, " Are they very great friends 
 of yours?" "Oh, no, they're all right, but I 
 don't care about them." " Then I propose to 
 make a general remark; one of your clever 
 friends might make an epigram out of it Bad 
 morals are not a sufficient apology for bad man- 
 ners," and he left the room. 
 
 It must be confessed that, though his tolera- 
 tion for antipathetic presences in his house was 
 extreme, hi-s method, when he came to objec- 
 tion, was not the most agreeable to a down-right 
 nature. The method was, I think, to be con- 
 demned; what social sages would say of the
 
 8o THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 toleration, I do not know. Perhaps there are 
 women of immemorial traditions who would be 
 embarrassed by the latter procedure; against 
 the former it is certain Nelly's spirit rose. " He 
 tells me to gratify myself about people, and I 
 naturally see my old friends, and then he says 
 unpleasant things about them." At first she 
 took heed to his objections; she was coming 
 now to study a disregard of them. There was 
 one man about whom he had lost his temper 
 from the first, and that man was the respectable 
 Mr. Morrison. " I know nothing against him," 
 he had said, " but his appearance and his con- 
 versation, and that is enough. He has brute and 
 blackguard written all over him, and his talk 's 
 like a stream of bad oil. If he comes into the 
 house, I '11 have any piece of furniture he touches 
 thrown out of window." Nelly laughed at this 
 display. It did not make her colour as other of 
 her husband's criticisms, and she had not invited 
 Mr. Morrison to Half-Moon Street. And now 
 at the end of the month she was going to dine 
 with Mr. Morrison. You see her spirit had 
 risen. 
 
 The dinner was largely elaborate, and the 
 host, perhaps from an artistic sense of a fitting
 
 MR. MORRISON 81 
 
 atmosphere, talked throughout of his magnifi- 
 cence. The Canovers and Nelly were privi- 
 leged to hear of his yacht, his carriages he 
 had not much to say of his horses and the 
 expensive sources of his cellar. He related 
 these things with beady glances towards Nelly, 
 with the air of a conqueror, as Achilles may 
 have shown his muscles to Brise'fs. I wish I 
 could say that the complaisance of his hearers 
 was an effect of breeding alone. 
 
 They went after dinner to a theatre, where Mr. 
 Morrison was sufficiently confident in himself to 
 keep his eyes fixed upqn Nelly's profile. " See 
 Nelly Canover, beg her pardon, Ashton ? " 
 said a young man in the stalls to his companion. 
 " Prettier than ever. Shall we go round after 
 this?" "Don't feel very keen. Never cared 
 much about the sister or the Major that is 
 him, is n't it? Besides, there 's a most awful 
 monster man with them. Who is he? " " Don't 
 know; probably some wealthy beast the 
 Major 's got in tow. I say, though, what sort 
 of fellow 's this Ashton chap she 's married ? " 
 
 " Decent chap, I believe, a gentleman, and 
 that sort of thing." " He must be a fool then to 
 let his wife be trotted about by her awful dad." 
 
 6
 
 82 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " Oh, one never knows," the joys of the 
 youthful cynic ! " Daresay he 's got some game 
 of his own." 
 
 Certainly the presence of Mr. Morrison, the 
 large and magnificent, while it might inspire 
 awe in the insolvent, did not bring on his friends 
 a halo of reverence or even aristocracy. Major 
 Canover sighed with relief as he went out of the 
 box between the acts, leaving Mr. Morrison to 
 talk to Nelly in what he honestly believed to be 
 a seductive manner, and Kate to sit in silence 
 and sulky boredom. And poor Nelly, conscious 
 at last of the man's vulgarity, and of a wrong 
 position for herself, became very unhappy. 
 
 " Now for supper," said Mr. Morrison, when 
 the play was over. 
 
 The Major beamed on the younger people's 
 enjoyment, but Nelly managed to escape and 
 betook herself home alone. 
 
 She was sitting the following afternoon alone 
 in the little drawing-room, cross with herself 
 and crosser, as was proper, with the perversity 
 of things, when Mr. Morrison called, illustrat- 
 ing the terrible power which the pushing and 
 coarse-grained have (did they know it) over 
 their more amiable fellow-creatures.
 
 MR. MORRISON 83 
 
 " I hope I 'm welcome," said the large man 
 as he came into the room, smiling hideously, 
 and with the air of a self-made sultan. 
 
 Now, if Nelly Ashton had been a coster-girl 
 or a great lady of the popular imagination, she 
 would have had no difficulty in expressing that 
 he was not welcome. As it was, she was almost 
 helpless to convey this fact to Mr. Morrison's 
 intelligence ; he probably took her coldness for 
 a natural awe of the powerful and conquering 
 male. There used to be a story of a very young 
 man in the army who, having bored his colo- 
 nel's wife almost to death for an hour, and 
 being invited, in despairing hope of variety, to 
 walk in the garden, announced in so many words 
 that he made it a rule never to flirt with the 
 wives of his brother officers. Mr. Morrison 
 would have missed the story's point. 
 
 But the interview was mercifully short, for 
 Mr. Morrison, a man of simple ideas, sat down 
 at once by her side on the sofa and tried to take 
 her hand. 
 
 " You seem to be confusing me with someone 
 else." 
 
 " Oh, no, I'm not," the insinuation had no 
 doubt at all, " you 're yourself, you know."
 
 84 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 She had moved to another seat and the man 
 stood up and put his hands in his pockets. 
 
 " Look here," he said, " your father and I 
 have had dealings together." 
 
 He was triumphantly proof against the look 
 which is supposed to crush anybody. 
 
 " Dealings together, and we may have more. 
 The advantage has been on his side," with an 
 omnipotent gesture, " and may be more so. 
 That being the case, I may ask for a little kind- 
 ness from you. Just a little kindness." 
 
 And so the interview came to an end, for even 
 Mr. Morrison was wise enough not to wait until 
 the bell was answered. He flushed as he went, 
 and I think the anger in his face was less offen- 
 sive than the preceding anticipation. All the 
 same it is a pity that, when a proposal was 
 recently advanced for clothing the Mr. Morri- 
 sons of London in a distinctive dress, the objec- 
 tions were found insuperable. 
 
 Nelly stamped her foot when he was gone, 
 and sat down to write to her much-tried father. 
 The only consolation was pleasure in her hus- 
 band's justification, which she was glad to rec- 
 ognise. He had been right about this man; 
 perhaps he was not altogether wrong about
 
 MR. MORRISON 85 
 
 others. You see what manner of wife she was 
 or might have been, one who needs convincing, 
 one who is glad to be convinced. Suppose a 
 definite, unerring line in a husband : there will 
 be thunder and lightning, and afterwards peace 
 and the smell of the sweet evening. Suppose 
 reason, tolerance, disapproval ironically sug- 
 gested, and occasional sharp speech, and you 
 have the day ending in drizzle, the night clos- 
 ing hopelessly. And yet reason is all our boast, 
 and delicacy of conduct, as George Ashton said, 
 largely a matter of brains. It seems that tol- 
 erance and freedom make marvellously for hap- 
 piness in marriage, when wife and husband have 
 the same tastes and like temperaments. Or 
 sensible men and women of the world go their 
 ways and are friends. Nelly Ashton was a girl 
 of spirit, and one unformed, and her husband 
 thought well to stand apart and criticise. Alas 
 for poor reason ! Nelly Ashton could not un- 
 derstand its blessing. 
 
 She intended now to tell her husband who 
 was to return that afternoon of her ill chance 
 with Mr. Morrison, knowing him above a vulgar 
 misinterpretation, and to form that little bond of 
 common execration. I suppose that would have 
 been dull for the humorous gods.
 
 86 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 For it happened that George Ashton's cab 
 was three doors from his house in Half-Moon 
 Street as Mr. Morrison left it. George had 
 spent the evening before in long talk with his 
 mother, renewing something of his boyhood, 
 expressing vaguely an unhappiness, and receiv- 
 ing, as always, comfort and a stimulus to put 
 himself in harmony with the world. His mother 
 had talked gently to him of girls and their ways, 
 their ideals and their mistakes, and of what they 
 value in men talked perhaps with a wise 
 hypocrisy and hoping little, for she did not 
 think that the girlhood of which she thought so 
 wistfully and kindly was that of her son's wife. 
 He was thinking now of Nelly with a sort of 
 tender humour, which was his real possibility of 
 wisdom, and which, if the chances of life had 
 helped it, might have made a woman happy. 
 When he saw Mr. Morrison, he cut him without 
 hesitation, and, entering his house, went quickly 
 to the drawing-room. 
 
 "Were you at home to that man Morrison? " 
 
 " Yes, that is, I did n't ask him to call. He 
 was simply shown up." 
 
 " I see, but I don't quite understand how even 
 a cad like that could have the impertinence to
 
 MR. MORRISON 87 
 
 call here have you been meeting him at your 
 father's?" 
 
 " Been meeting him? My dear boy, you talk 
 as though I 'd been making rendez-vous with 
 Mr. Morrison." 
 
 " No, but why should he think he might come 
 here?" 
 
 " Really, George, are we playing at witness 
 and lawyer? As a matter of fact, I dined with 
 Mr. Morrison last night." 
 
 She had flushed slightly and stood upright by 
 the fireplace. Her husband sat down and looked 
 at her coldly. 
 
 "Indeed? if it's not being too inquisitive, 
 may I ask who the rest of the party were? " 
 
 " Father and Kate." 
 
 " How delightful ! You did n't mention the 
 engagement; I should have felt less rude in 
 leaving you alone if you had. Mr. Morrison 
 must be a charming host. I 'm afraid I was 
 barbarian enough to cut him just now. If I 'd 
 known of his hospitality, I 'd have stopped and 
 thanked him." 
 
 " You mean, I suppose, I am not to know 
 my father's friends. I wish you 'd speak 
 plainly."
 
 88 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 "Not at all. I don't think I have tried to 
 make you give up Major Canover's agree- 
 able friends. I believe I speak ordinary 
 English." 
 
 She gave a gesture of irritation. " I 'm sorry 
 you 're angry with me, but I see nothing I should 
 apologise for." 
 
 " It 's I who should apologise for catechising 
 you " 
 
 "Will you excuse me? I've rather a head- 
 ache. We shall meet at dinner, I suppose." 
 
 To be cut short in a strain of irony annoys 
 the vanity of sarcastic people. George Ashton 
 may have felt dimly that he deserved it, but he 
 opened the door with a politely indifferent in- 
 timation of his sorrow for his wife's headache, 
 and on this occasion there was no embrace to 
 end the quarrel.
 
 A HOUSE PARTY AT ROWE 89 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A HOUSE PARTY AT ROWE 
 
 AFTER the incident of Mr. Morrison, George 
 Ashton and his wife grew in politeness to one 
 another. So would not (you will think) two 
 healthy human natures. Your simple and healthy 
 natures who are newly married may fall out, but 
 in the inevitable course of married life are quickly 
 friends again. An agricultural labourer and his 
 wife, who are supposed to be naturally straight- 
 forward, there is, I have observed, some evi- 
 dence against the invariable truth of the supposi- 
 tion, might fight and kiss again ; would hardly 
 maintain reserves and distances. Jack Ashton 
 could not have lived with a woman but on terms 
 of easy openness ; Mildred, his wife, had her 
 husband been distantly polite to her, would have 
 bullied him into submission or have thrown her- 
 self at his feet as their relative forces or the 
 chances of war determined. And who denies
 
 90 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 that on the highest tower of our brain-built 
 castle of humanity out of ken of Jack Ashton 
 and his wife there may stand men and women 
 who are sound and whole in spirit and body, who 
 living together could not be other than frank and 
 direct and therefore friends in body and spirit? 
 Who knowing them is not glad the poor world 
 contains them? Who not being of them but re- 
 grets regrets, if he is right, that he has paid in 
 perversity for subtlety and brains to which they 
 were free-born ? 
 
 But I am writing of a man to whom had come 
 through his fathers with a body only tolerably 
 sound a spirit which was perverse. He had 
 pondered and analysed and examined ; he was 
 fastidious; a rebuff to his mind and his tastes 
 tended to cool his passions. That he was worthy 
 of his wife I do not say. And yet he was hon- 
 ourable and generous, incapable of lying for ad- 
 vantage or of telling the truth for revenge. He 
 had plenty of humour; the ridiculous element in 
 his present position was quite apparent to him. 
 But he could not break through the barrier of 
 distaste which kept him there. If his wife had 
 committed a murder so it was not a mean 
 murder he would not have assumed even an
 
 A HOUSE PARTY AT ROWE 91 
 
 air of forgiveness. But when his wife showed a 
 liking for vulgar people, and misinterpreted 
 himself, he grew polite. 
 
 Nelly on her part found what she took to be 
 her patience breaking down. She was curt to 
 him at times ; she consulted him less and less in 
 her engagements. She imitated his politeness, 
 and the necessity (as she thought it) irritated 
 her natural frankness ; there was growing in her, 
 because of it, a feeling which she did not know 
 to be contempt. She was sounder in spirit than 
 her husband, but she was not wholly sound. An 
 appeal to her frankness and honesty would always 
 have found an answer, but failing that she was 
 liable to imaginings and suspicions. She saw 
 one day Mildred Ashton look compassionately 
 upon her husband ; at once she thought he had 
 spoken of her to this woman, and the feeling 
 which she did not know to be contempt waxed 
 stronger. 
 
 They went abroad after London, and in an 
 hotel, where were friends of theirs, politeness 
 was easier than in Half-Moon Street. The 
 friends were Lord and Lady Skeffington. Skef- 
 fington was glad to be with his pal, as he called 
 her ; Lady Skeffington was said by gossip, with
 
 92 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 which you and I have nothing to do, to have fol- 
 lowed in the wake of a pal of her own. She and 
 Nelly were now on tolerable terms. I do not 
 know that it is necessary we should assume that 
 Lady Skeffington was wildly devoted to her lord 
 or wildly jealous on his behalf. She was the 
 daughter of a country doctor, brought up in an 
 atmosphere not very ethereal, and she had mar- 
 ried Charles FitzHenry, Viscount Skeffington in 
 the peerage of Ireland, with, we will say, the 
 laudable object of reclaiming and making him 
 respectable with her father's savings. She had 
 thought in the old days that his friendship with 
 Nelly Canover was making herself ridiculous. 
 Perhaps there were other reasons for hostility; 
 now it had passed away, and probably Nelly and 
 she really thought they were friends. 
 
 George looked with eyes of equable boredom 
 on everybody but his wife, for cooled passion 
 may be thought a different thing. But he liked 
 Skeffington, who would crack a bottle at any 
 reasonable time (in an immemorial fashion whose 
 decease was falsely announced in the papers a 
 while ago) and play picquet for any reasonable 
 number of hours. You really cannot introspect 
 all day and night.
 
 A HOUSE PARTY AT ROWE 93 
 
 In the beginning of September they returned 
 to Rowe. Mrs. Ashton welcomed them with 
 a look of anxiety which neither could altogether 
 miss. George, being a man, put it down to 
 fears for his happiness and laughed as he kissed 
 his mother. Nelly, being a woman, knew what 
 was wanting. I cannot tell what she thought, 
 but at least a child would have drawn these two 
 women together. 
 
 A day or two after their arrival George went 
 to London on business and returned with a 
 bracelet for his wife. 
 
 " Oh, George, how lovely ; thank you so 
 much." " Dear " was half formed on her lips, 
 and there was a look in her eyes which a man 
 should have seen. 
 
 George was not looking at her. " So glad 
 you like it: I thought it was pretty." 
 
 " Thank you so very much." 
 
 " Not at all," he said with the little laugh she 
 did not understand. After all it would have 
 been sordid to have been reconciled by means 
 of a bracelet. 
 
 The next day came a letter from Mildred 
 Ashton remarking that it would be so sweet 
 if Nelly could take in for a week herself and
 
 94 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 her husband and the baby, for whom it seemed 
 there was no other occasion to obtain fresh 
 air. A few months back Nelly might have 
 expressed vexation, before she and her husband 
 were grown polite. 
 
 " It won't bore you ? " he asked. 
 
 "Oh, not at all. But it would be dull for 
 them alone. Would it bore you if I asked the 
 Skeffingtons down? I know they are free now." 
 
 Nelly, you see, had thought of Skeffington 
 at once as a counterpoise to her enemy, with 
 much nature and little prescience. 
 
 " Delighted. The birds are n't much this 
 year, but I daresay Skeffington won't mind 
 getting his hand in with them." 
 
 " Oh, Charlie won't mind that." 
 
 " No ? that 's all right then." He did not raise 
 his eyebrows. 
 
 So Lord and Lady Skeffington were invited 
 and came to Rowe, and thus it happened 
 that three married couples were assembled to 
 example possibilities the Jack Ashtons affec- 
 tionate and contented, the Skeffingtons good- 
 humoured and indifferent, George and Nelly 
 Ashton as you have seen them. The Skeffing- 
 ton children, who were two, took the fresh air 
 in Ireland with their grandmother.
 
 A HOUSE PARTY AT ROWE 95 
 
 The Jack Ashtons came first, and on the after- 
 noon of their arrival the baby, his mother, his 
 nurse, and his hostess went down to the dower- 
 house. Mrs. Ashton was devoted to children 
 and lavished caresses on the healthy little boy 
 for his own sake. If she was wistful, she did not 
 show it ; if Mrs. Jack was triumphant, surely 
 the existence of the baby was excuse enough. 
 Nelly, standing aside, thought such thoughts as 
 no man knows. 
 
 When the Skeffingtons came, the party was 
 outwardly amused. All six had the modern 
 habit of inoffensive chaff, inoffensive, at least, 
 when chaffers and chaffees (they especially) are 
 tolerably amiable, the chaff which, whatever the 
 elders say against it, is the easiest and most 
 pleasant substitute for intimacy or reasoned 
 conversation. Inwardly there were varieties of 
 view. George Ashton was bored and annoyed. 
 The society of the amiably vacuous can be en- 
 dured for a longer time than that of the agres- 
 sively intelligent, but in either case the longing 
 for reaction may grow painful. Lady Skeffing- 
 ton was socially clever and could appear to be 
 irresponsible. She responded gaily to her host ; 
 now and again she told a funny story; when
 
 96 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 dullness threatened too visibly, she produced a 
 South-Cork brogue. But George Ashton would 
 not flirt with her, and Jack Ashton's flirting was 
 not desirable of lively woman ; Lady Skeffing- 
 ton was bored to desperation. Nelly was the 
 most silent of them all, and lapsed most frequent- 
 ly from smiles. The presence of Mildred op- 
 pressed her; the daily eulogies on the baby 
 were a torture. Skeffington paired off with 
 her as often as was possible, but he did not 
 bring her the comfort she had expected. A 
 life such as his does not sharpen the sensibili- 
 ties. He was fond of Nelly, and gay in her 
 society, and he was honest in thinking that, if 
 need were, he would stand her firm friend. But 
 the nature of her perplexities escaped him. He 
 thought George Ashton a good enough fellow, 
 a bit of a prig perhaps, but really a very decent 
 chap; Nelly had come, really, into rather a 
 good thing; you can't have everything you 
 want, and Nelly had enough to satisfy most 
 people. He laughed at her vague animadver- 
 sions on Mildred Ashton, whom he thought a 
 very good-natured and easy-mannered person. 
 Women's quarrels amused him. The Moham- 
 medan view of their souls, if he had ever thought
 
 A HOUSE PARTY AT ROWE 97 
 
 of souls, would have seemed tenable to him. 
 They quarrelled, he thought, for the pettiest 
 reasons, and were reconciled for the like. And 
 in this case the quarrelling seemed to be all on 
 one side. He was not then a very sympathetic 
 listener. And perhaps he was accustomed to 
 Nelly's beauty; he showed no intention of 
 grave advances. Nelly was unhappy. There 
 was a man who had disappointed her hopes of 
 herself, a man who was an ox, and a man who 
 did not understand as once he had under- 
 stood ; and there were two women who watched 
 her. 
 
 But this unfortunate trio was balanced. Skef- 
 fington was happy. The house was charming, 
 its habits such as were familiar. Everybody 
 was agreeable, and he had his old pal with whom 
 to stroll about The shooting was not good, 
 but it filled up a few hours every day and kept 
 him fit. In a more bovine fashion Jack Ash- 
 ton's feelings were the same. The food was 
 good, and the wine was good, and he had that 
 consciousness of leading a healthy life which 
 was the highest gratification of his moral sense. 
 He regarded Lady Skeffington as a sort of sherry 
 and bitters before dinner, a sort of liqueur 
 
 7
 
 98 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 afterwards, and he took for granted her pleasure 
 in his conversation about himself. 
 
 And Mildred, his wife, was supremely happy. 
 She glowed with health and good spirits, and 
 gloried in those of her child, to whom she was 
 devoted; she confirmed her popularity with 
 neighbouring houses, and advised her hostess 
 on the order of their invitation. She took 
 vigorous exercise, and was rewarded in appetite 
 and digestion. She paid court to Mrs. Ashton 
 at the dower-house, talking to her of her 
 daughter-in-law with what was accepted as a 
 delicate reticence. But her greatest triumph 
 was in the terms she established between her- 
 self and George. He was bored and annoyed, 
 as I have said. He felt that his wife and Skef- 
 fington liked to be together, and was very care- 
 ful to be pleased with the arrangement. On 
 Jack Ashton he looked as on an amiable but 
 stupid dog. Lady Skeffington irritated him ; he 
 felt that she was turning herself on to be gra- 
 cious, and her tone, which was too often the tone 
 of a woman conscious of some imagined emi- 
 nence, jarred upon him. The shooting wearied 
 him ; the conversation wearied him to the last 
 degree. But he had never disliked his cousin's
 
 A HOUSE PARTY AT ROWE 99 
 
 wife, who indeed had always studied to please 
 him. There was something in her absolute 
 health and abundant vitality which was attract- 
 ive as often happens to an organisation 
 delicate an.d somewhat tired. Her gaiety, so 
 patently natural and different from Lady Skef- 
 fington's, pleased him, whose wife seemed gay 
 no more. He was accustomed to her laugh. 
 And then she was so good-natured, so frank, so 
 absolutely on the surface. For these reasons 
 Mildred was the most acceptable of his guests, 
 and she was quick to perceive the fact and not 
 diffident to use it. 
 
 On the fourth morning, he excused himself 
 from shooting and went to his library. Thither 
 presently went Mildred, tapped at the door, 
 and entered with exaggerated softness, demurely 
 arch. George laughed and put down his 
 book. 
 
 " I 'm most frightfully sorry to disturb you. 
 I know you '11 never forgive me. But really I 
 won't keep you a moment. Minnie Talbot's 
 written to me to ask if I know of a tutor for 
 her boy. He 's been super what is it ! yes, 
 superannuated from school. I knew you could 
 tell me of one."
 
 ioo THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 George wrote down the address of a briefless 
 friend. 
 
 " Thank you so much. Now I '11 rush away. 
 You must be glad to escape from us frivolous 
 people." 
 
 " Oh, please ! am I such a bear? " 
 
 "No, really, George, I know it must bore 
 you to be always listening to nonsense, and 
 you must want to be with your books. You 
 may not believe me, but I do admire people with 
 brains. I think you give tone to the family 
 don't laugh, sir : I mean it poor Jack has n't 
 any brains. And well, good-bye." 
 
 " No ; stay and talk." 
 
 George looked up at her; he had been 
 very much bored, and you have heard of his 
 temperament. 
 
 " You 'd hate me for a month if I did. Any- 
 thing I can do for you before I go? Yes, I 
 see ; I '11 mix you a brandy and soda." 
 
 She mixed a strong one. 
 
 " Should n't I make a good barmaid ? " 
 
 It was indeed the fact, but George merely 
 thought she was a very pleasant and pretty 
 woman. She went out with a kind look over 
 her shoulder. In the passage she met Nelly
 
 A HOUSE PARTY AT ROWE 101 
 
 and put her finger on her lip. " George is deep 
 in his books," she said, warningly. She came 
 on other days to borrow a book, to ask how to 
 spell a word in a letter, and the like ! And she 
 was always sympathetic about his brains, and 
 always mixed him a brandy and soda. And 
 so something near to an intimacy was es- 
 tablished and the days went by. I fear the 
 course of this narrative is leading away from 
 ideals.
 
 102 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 'AN UNCONSCIOUS CAMPAIGN 
 
 So a fortnight went by and the afternoon 
 arrived on the morrow of which the guests 
 were to leave, and it happened that Mildred 
 Ashton found Lady Skeffington alone in the 
 hall. She sat down on a chair by her friend's 
 side. 
 
 " So this is to be our last evening," she said. 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Skeffington, with a yawn. 
 
 " Are you sorry ? " 
 
 " H'm well. It 's a nice place. Are you ? " 
 
 " Oh, I should stay if I wanted to. We 're 
 going to the Granleighs in a couple of days. 
 Of course it was convenient, coming; we had 
 nowhere to go and it's healthy for my boy. 
 Bless him. I like George, too; don't you? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 "What do you think of his wife? "' Mildred 
 asked, looking at the other. It seemed that
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS CAMPAIGN 103 
 
 neither thought the place inappropriate to the 
 question. 
 
 "Frankly?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " She always was a silly little thing. I don't 
 care about her; I never did. What strikes 
 me is she 's got so dull. I never agreed with 
 the people who said she was clever. Still, 
 she used to talk more than she does. She's 
 gone off in looks too not that I could ever 
 see anything in her to rave about She 's 
 getting so pale and she's much too thin, I 
 think." 
 
 Mildred settled her plump person more com- 
 fortably in her chair. " The married state has 
 its cares and responsibilities," she said smiling. 
 
 " What a pity they married," said Lucy. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Why, my dear, if your cousin died without 
 children, your husband would have this place, 
 would n't he ! And I 'd come and stay with 
 you." 
 
 " Thanks, dearest. But George is younger 
 than Jack and you must n't talk like that 
 it's dreadful to think of benefiting by any- 
 body's death."
 
 104 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 Lady Skeffington had acquired a frankness 
 which was not in her training and laughed. 
 
 " But he 's a much worse life," she said. " He 
 looks delicate very and he drinks." 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! " 
 
 "Of course he does. Charlie's pretty bad, 
 but your cousin drinks twice as much as he 
 does. I should say he could n't last." 
 
 " How terrible," said Mildred. " But, anyhow, 
 we 're out of it now. I hope they '11 have chil- 
 dren it will draw them together." 
 
 " You ought n't to wish that, you know," 
 Lucy said and regarded her curiously. " If your 
 cousin drinks, his children can't be healthy." 
 
 " Ye-es, I see that," said Mildred slowly. 
 
 " And, you know, I don't think they will. I 
 mean, they won't live together. They're ob- 
 viously beginning to hate one another, and then 
 they '11 be separated, and you '11 be all right. 
 You're safe so far." 
 
 I do not think that Mildred's horror of her 
 friend's brutality was wholly affected. In her 
 case, early environment still modified tempera- 
 ment and instinct, and the other's plainness 
 brought a blush to her healthy cheek. 
 
 " Don't talk like that, Lucy," she said ; " I
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS CAMPAIGN 105 
 
 don't like it. I'm sure I shall do my best to 
 keep them friends. I don't altogether like her. 
 It was a grief to us to George's mother and 
 me when they married, but I shall do my best 
 for her." 
 
 " Of course you will, dear angel." She pat- 
 ted Mildred's hand, and Mildred's indignation 
 seemed to be appeased. 
 
 " Where are the men? " 
 
 " George and Jack are playing billiards." 
 
 " And Charlie 's loafing about with our sweet 
 hostess," and Lady Skeflington laughed, but 
 Mildred looked at her with an appearance of 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind," she answered the look. 
 
 " It 's an innocent amusement." 
 
 " But don't you think it 's a pity? Of course 
 it does n't matter with us, but in the world 
 people might say do you know I think I 
 ought to say something." 
 
 " Oh, don't bother about me." Lady Skeffing- 
 ton did not care, but then she was bored. 
 
 " Well, it 's for her sake. Perhaps if I said a 
 word to George's mother I should hate doing 
 it, but it might be right." 
 
 Lady Skeffington looked at her humorously.
 
 106 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 "You sweet, unselfish angel. Well, dear, play 
 your own game I mean, do what 's right. I 'm 
 going to look at the billiards." 
 
 She went, leaving it uncertain whether it was 
 in her interests or in Nelly's that Mildred Ashton 
 was to say a word. 
 
 And Mildred sat in thought. I think it a 
 mistake to credit her with conscious conspiracy. 
 Lady Skeffington's former suggestion had really 
 shocked her ; the latter one she pushed aside at 
 once. She was sure she would be doing right 
 in making an effort to keep scandal from Nelly 
 Ashton. A vulgar scheme to bring about a 
 quarrel and a separation did not present itself to 
 her mind. No; it was her duty to stop this 
 flirtation with Skeffington. And meantime it 
 was charitable to show a little kindness to poor 
 George. She welcomed him with her brightest 
 smile as he came from the billiard room. 
 
 She announced at dinner that if Nelly would 
 be sweet enough to invite her, she would like to 
 stay two days longer, and go straight to the 
 Granleighs, joining her husband (who had 
 business there) on her way through town. 
 Accordingly, on the next morning the Skeffing- 
 tons and Jack Ashton drove away from Rowe,
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS CAMPAIGN 107 
 
 while Mildred at the door held up the crowing 
 boy to wave good-bye to his father. It was a 
 pretty picture ; George and Nelly Ashton were 
 somewhat in the background. 
 
 In the afternoon Mildred went to the dower- 
 house. She found old Mrs. Ashton reading in 
 the porch, and sat down on a stool by the side 
 of her garden chair. 
 
 " It 's kind of you to come and see an old 
 woman," said Mrs. Ashton. Nelly's visits had 
 been few of late, and, although Mrs. Ashton did 
 not really desire them to be frequent, when one 
 is old one notices a failure of attention. 
 
 " You know I love to come," murmured 
 Mildred and laid her hand with diffident affec- 
 tion on the old lady's arm. Mrs. Ashton 
 caressed the sleek young hand with her long 
 white ringers. 
 
 " Dear child," she said. " I 'm always glad 
 to see you. My boy was here this morning. 
 He said you and he were good friends. I 'm 
 so glad you 're so sensible and so good." 
 
 It was an opportunity Mrs. Jack desired, and 
 she explained her difficult task: how she hated 
 to say anything that seemed to disparage 
 George's wife, but how Lucy Skeffington was
 
 io8 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 her dearest friend and was suffering very much, 
 although she hid it under her laughing man- 
 ner; how of course it was all innocent, but 
 of course poor Lord Skeffington, well, he 
 hadn't a very good reputation, and how per- 
 haps, if Mrs. Ashton spoke a word to Nelly 
 Mrs. Ashton shook her head. "I can't," she 
 said, " but I will speak to George. I know there 
 is nothing in it, but young girls are thoughtless. 
 I can't bear that such things should be needful 
 in the case of my son's wife, but but you are 
 good-natured, dear ; yes, it 's very good-natured 
 of you. Yes. I '11 speak to George, poor 
 boy." 
 
 That was what Mrs. Jack, in the interest of 
 everybody, wished, and she kissed Mrs. Ashton 
 on parting with real kindness. As she walked 
 away she even graciously revised her former 
 judgment and said to herself that Mrs. Ashton 
 was really a dear old thing. George went to 
 see his mother again in the evening, and after 
 breakfast the next day, while Mrs. Jack strolled 
 to the hall door to sniff the air, he followed his 
 wife into the drawing-room. 
 
 " I want to say something, Nelly. I daresay 
 you '11 think me ridiculous, but I must ask you
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS CAMPAIGN 109 
 
 to forgive that. I don't wish to say anything 
 offensive about anybody. Skeffington is a good 
 chap, and of course I know you 're incapable of 
 anything anything vulgar. But it is possible 
 to be too good friends with him." 
 
 Nelly turned to him angrily. " May I ask if 
 it was your mother or was it Mildred Ashton 
 who suggested this to you? " 
 
 " Neither," George said, curtly. " I speak 
 simply from my own observation." 
 
 " You didn't say this to Charlie? " 
 
 "Certainly not that would have been to 
 make an exaggerated fuss. But I suppose I 
 can mention such a thing to my wife without 
 doing anything unique." 
 
 "Oh, no, it's not unique. It's common 
 enough." 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " Other women do what they like about these 
 things." 
 
 He raised his eyebrows. " Yes, there are 
 women who do what they like about these 
 things." 
 
 " Do you wish to insult me? " 
 
 " I have no such heroic intention." 
 
 She walked quickly to the long window which
 
 1 10 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 opened on the terrace and passed out. George 
 sat down wearily in a chair. He swore to him- 
 self. Surely, his life was a huge bore. It was 
 all so stupid, so sordid. It was neither serious 
 nor pleasant. Oh, bah, damn ! Vive la baga- 
 telle ! he must look for some pleasure some- 
 where. 
 
 It was then that Mrs. Jack, strolling to the 
 drawing-room door, saw him, and, noticing his 
 depression, determined to enliven him, in the 
 benevolence of her heart. Her methods of 
 coquetry were not subtle; it must be said, 
 however, that she had found them successful. 
 In this instance she went to the library, locked 
 the door, and came back with the key. 
 
 "Well, George," she said, and stopped on 
 the threshold of the drawing-room. 
 
 He looked up, and as the sun fell full on Mil- 
 dred in her trim morning dress, in her radiating 
 health and rosy comeliness, she made a very 
 delightful picture to the man who was cross 
 and had a momentary desire for light pleasure. 
 
 "Well?" he said, and got up from his 
 chair. 
 
 " You 're not going to shut yourself up in 
 the library this morning."
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS CAMPAIGN in 
 
 " Certainly not, if I can do anything for 
 you." 
 
 " I did n't say you could do anything for 
 me ; I said you were not going to shut 
 yourself up in the library. And the reason 
 is that I Ve locked the door, and I Ve got 
 the key." 
 
 She walked impudently up to him, shook 
 the key in his face, and put her hands behind 
 her back, looking archly upon him. 
 
 " Woman ! " he said, with a tolerable effect 
 of melodrama. "How dare you? Give me 
 the key!" 
 
 She clasped her hands, holding the key, in 
 prayer before her, and put her head on one 
 side. " You would n't hurt a weak woman ! " 
 she said. At this moment Nelly paused at 
 the window and looked in. Mildred saw her, 
 but George's back was turned. 
 
 "Well '."said Mildred. 
 
 George caught her soft wrists, and gave a 
 light laugh. 
 
 " You know, Mildred, if we 're cousins enough 
 for you to lock up the library, we 're cousins 
 enough for me " 
 
 She shot a look into his eyes, and he bent 
 forward and kissed her cheek.
 
 U2 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, and broke away from him 
 laughing, and throwing him the key. 
 
 She ran after Nelly. George saw his wife 
 walking away, and remembered their conver- 
 sation. The humour of the silly tu quoque 
 amused him, but as he walked to his library 
 he included Mrs. Jack in a general maledic- 
 tion, which was unjust aud ungrateful. 
 
 Mildred ran after Nelly, and linked her arm. 
 " My dear child, surely you 're not angry at 
 such a silly thing?" 
 
 "Certainly not why should I be?" 
 
 "You know, George and I have been close 
 friends for years, and he always was a flirt in 
 a harmless way." 
 
 " Perhaps that 's why he sees it in others." 
 She bit her lip the moment she had said it. 
 
 Mrs. Jack took her up at once. " What, he 
 has n't been scolding you ? Why, then you can 
 turn the tables. But, really, it 's all childish, you 
 know staid married people and that." In 
 rapid self-justification she decided that George 
 must have spoken too seriously to his wife, 
 more seriously than she, the benevolent Mildred, 
 had intended. 
 
 After lunch, Mrs. Jack went to say good-bye
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS CAMPAIGN 113 
 
 to some especial friends, and George shut him- 
 self in the library. 
 
 Nelly sat in her room and meditated, a hurtful 
 process with her, as always. So her husband, 
 who presumed to find fault with her loyal friend- 
 ship with Charlie Skeffington, could himself have 
 a vulgar flirtation with such a vulgar thing as 
 Mildred. This was what was beneath his cul- 
 ture and long words and solemn phrases. And 
 she had thought it was to be a new life for her. 
 And and her reflections were foolish and 
 piteous. She worked herself at last into a small 
 act of folly which only a foolish young woman 
 could have done. Before dinner she went to 
 Mrs. Jack's room with the bracelet her husband 
 had given her three weeks before. 
 
 " I want to give you a present," she said. 
 " This thing does n't suit me at all. Will you 
 accept it?" 
 
 Mrs. Jack held out a prompt hand, and looked 
 at the bracelet. She divined the cause of the 
 gift, and had a momentary doubt of the wisdom 
 of acceptance. But stones are stones, and these 
 were beautiful and costly. If these foolish 
 people must quarrel, it was not her fault ; George 
 was too sensible to blame her. 
 
 8
 
 ii4 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " Oh, my dear, it 's lovely, but you must n't 
 give away your jewels like this." 
 
 " I really don't want it. Will you wear it at 
 dinner? " 
 
 " Of course I will. It's sweet of you, dear. 
 Thanks so very much." She kissed the giver 
 lightly ; there was no use in exaggerating an ob- 
 ligation. Nelly drew back slightly from the kiss, 
 as Mrs. Jack noticed. 
 
 At dinner she anticipated the inevitable 
 and perhaps prevented a possible recall by 
 holding out her wrist towards her host. 
 
 " Look what your prodigal wife has given 
 me." 
 
 " I thought it suited her better than me," said 
 Nelly with a quivering lip. 
 
 George looked at the bracelet carelessly. 
 " Yes, I think it suits Mildred better than you," 
 he said. 
 
 Mrs. Jack ate and talked for the three ; George 
 consulted his glass ; poor Nelly had no resource. 
 But though Nelly was silent in the drawing- 
 room, and though George went back to the 
 library after ten minutes of their society, Mrs. 
 Jack continued to babble cheerfully, and, having 
 first embraced her sleeping baby, went to bed
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS CAMPAIGN 115 
 
 in perfect good humour. I should say she was 
 triumphant, but that, I am certain, there was no 
 consciousness in her reasoning, mind of having 
 made a clever stroke in a sordid game. And 
 while the others lay with set and wakeful faces, 
 she slept the smiling sleep of those who are just 
 to themselves.
 
 ii6 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 " LIFE 'S A FARCE " 
 
 THE next morning Nelly kept her room, and 
 George had the privilege of meeting Mildred 
 tete-a-tete at breakfast. He was pale and fidgety 
 and ate nothing; Mrs. Jack talked placidly, and 
 placidly proceeded through a substantial meal. 
 Presently George rang for a brandy and soda, 
 and straightened himself when he had drunk it. 
 
 " I wish you 'd stay longer," he said. 
 
 Mildred looked at him gravely. " I 'm afraid 
 I can't, George ; and, do you know, I 'm not sure 
 it would be wise if I did. You won't mind my 
 saying something? You know I 'm really your 
 friend." 
 
 " I know you are." 
 
 "That's right, dear George. I am, indeed. 
 Well, I could n't help seeing last night that Nelly 
 and you had quarrelled about something. That 
 distresses me dreadfully." She broke the shell 
 of her second egg and regarded it with a sorrow-
 
 "LIFE'S A FARCE" 117 
 
 ful expression. " I know it has n't anything to 
 do with me, but somehow I feel I don't make 
 things better. Nelly does n't like me, I 'm afraid. 
 I Ve tried my best, indeed I have." 
 
 " I know you have, Mildred ; you Ve been 
 awfully good." 
 
 He held out his hand towards her. She was 
 sitting on his right, and her left hand was encum- 
 bered with toast and butter. A sentiment was 
 convenient. 
 
 " I hate to see people I care for unhappy in 
 any way," said Mildred, and, her hand being free, 
 she took his in a frank grasp of friendship. 
 
 " You know," she continued, " I did n't at 
 all like to accept that bracelet, but I was so 
 afraid of offending her. I could n't help think- 
 ing it had something to do with your having 
 disagreed ; forgive me if I 'm interfering. I 
 should like to give it back to her if I possibly 
 could." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ; it's awfully good of you, but 
 Nelly has lots of toys, and she won't miss that 
 one." 
 
 " No ; I shall insist on giving it back, and you 
 may give me something instead, if you like," she 
 said gaily. He expressed a polite gratification.
 
 u8 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " I think I shall run up to town for a day or 
 two," he said ; " what train do you go by?" 
 
 " The eleven. Are you really going to town? 
 Then we can go together, and we '11 go to a shop 
 and you can buy me some trifle instead of the 
 bracelet. That '11 be very jolly and friendly." 
 
 George went to his wife's room and announced 
 his intention. 
 
 " You won't be bored for a couple of days? I 
 suppose it would n't amuse you to come up too? 
 There 's nothing to do in London now. I shall 
 take a room at the club and come back as soon 
 as I Ve done my business." 
 
 " Oh, I shall be all right, thanks. I suppose 
 you are going with Mildred? Well, I hope 
 you '11 enjoy yourselves." 
 
 " A wise man never expects enjoyment," 
 George said, but added with a quick change to 
 lightness, " in this ass of a world." 
 
 " Good-bye," said Nelly evenly, and he left 
 the room. 
 
 Mrs. Jack had received a message of apology 
 and farewell from her hostess, but was of a 
 friendliness not to be withstood. She tapped 
 at the bedroom door and entered immediately 
 with the smiling nurse and the noisy baby.
 
 "LIFE'S A FARCE" 119 
 
 Nelly put her hand to her forehead when she 
 saw the intruding host. She kissed the baby 
 perfunctorily, and he was carried out by the 
 almost visibly indignant nurse. Mrs. Jack re- 
 mained standing by the bedside. Nelly was 
 lying in a tumbled heap of fluffy lace stuff, her 
 beautiful hair brushed back with her hands from 
 her face, the romance of her beauty pointed by 
 pallor and heavy eyes. Perhaps it was appre- 
 ciation of beauty that caused Mildred's bright- 
 ness as she looked down. Nelly looked up, and 
 dropped her eyes. She felt oppressed, as 
 though the affable Mildred were some full- 
 bodied fate standing over her in triumph, and 
 she longed for her to go. 
 
 " It's been so jolly, dear," said Mildred. 
 
 *' I was so glad you could come." 
 
 " But everything comes to an end." 
 
 " Yes," said Nelly. 
 
 "One thing, dear I want to give you back 
 that bracelet. It was very sweet of you, but I 
 don't like to keep it. I know George gave it 
 to you " 
 
 "Did he tell you?" 
 
 " Oh no, dear ; I guessed, really," she laughed. 
 " It 's all a joke. Here it is, dear."
 
 120 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 She put the bracelet on the bed. 
 
 " I 'm sorry you don't like my present. I 
 thought you did." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense, dear, it's not that. I won't 
 take it Poor dear, you look feverish." She 
 laid her hand on Nelly's forehead, who winced 
 at the touch. 
 
 " I 'm rather headachy. I think, if you won't 
 think me rude, I'll try to get some sleep." 
 
 " That 's right, dear, you 're not at all well. 
 I '11 tell George he must n't stay away more than 
 a day." 
 
 Nelly sat up rigidly in bed and broke out. 
 
 " Really, Mildred, this is too much. George 
 and I can really manage ourselves without your 
 advice." 
 
 Mrs. Jack laughed tolerantly. " You poor 
 child, you must be bad. Why, I only suggested 
 I might tell George you 're not well; men can't 
 notice that as well as women. I'm awfully 
 sorry if I annoyed you." 
 
 Nelly had seen her mistake at once: she must 
 either make a scene and express vague griev- 
 ances, as she was too proud to do, or she must 
 admit that she had been rude without provo- 
 cation.
 
 "LIFE'S A FARCE" 121 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I'm rather ill, I think; 
 my nerves are rather upset" 
 
 Mrs. Jack became a frankly superior being. 
 " Yes, that 's it, dear ; you must take care of 
 yourself. But do remember I only want to do 
 what is kind. There good-bye." 
 
 Quite coolly she patted Nelly's cheek, and 
 turning away before any possible protest could 
 be made was gone in triumph. 
 
 As the door closed Nelly laid her face for a 
 moment on the pillow. Then she left her bed, 
 and walked rapidly up and down the room. She 
 went to a looking-glass and turned from it angrily. 
 She looked out of the window and clenched her 
 hands. She rang the bell and dressed quickly 
 and left the house, and as she walked to the 
 railway-station she had the motion of one who 
 would outstrip thought. There she wired to 
 Lord Skeffington at his club in London: 
 " Come to me at once. I need you." But 
 thought is winged, as we know, and Nelly 
 loitered and wavered as she walked back to the 
 house. A peal of thunder broke as she entered 
 it, but Nelly was no spectator of herself, and 
 missed the gratification which the dramatic effect 
 would have given her husband in a like emer-
 
 122 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 gency. The storm sent a riding neighbour in 
 to lunch, who regretted the absence of Mildred 
 Ashton, and so thought was routed, and the time 
 passed until Skeffington should come. 
 
 Her visitor was gone, and she sat in her sitting- 
 room with a railway book on her lap. She con- 
 sulted it and threw it away. She picked it up 
 and consulted it again, and sat in thought. 
 Sometimes her brows puckered, sometimes she 
 smiled, and once she laughed outright, to look 
 immediately straight before her with hopeless 
 eyes. At length Lord Skeffington's arrival was 
 announced, and she told the butlerthat she would 
 see him where she was. The old man was trained 
 to insensibility, but when he had shut the door 
 behind him, he sighed to himself and then smiled. 
 There is a pleasure in an intrigue even to the 
 attached domestic. 
 
 Skeffington's smile was sweet as ever, but the 
 trouble in his eyes was obvious even to Nelly. 
 He sat down awkwardly; the idea crossed his 
 brain that his position was like a doctor's or a 
 family solicitor's. 
 
 "Well, dear, what is it? Awfully lucky: I 
 was just leaving town." 
 
 " The end 's come, Charlie ; that 's all."
 
 "LIFE'S A FARCE" 123 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 " I can't go on with it, Charlie. It 's no use 
 trying any more. If he cared for me still, even, 
 I might. Do you know yesterday I saw him kiss 
 Mildred Ashton, and to-day he 's gone to town 
 with her." 
 
 Skeffington's eyes were humorous. " Well, 
 but," he said, " surely there 's nothing in that." 
 
 " Oh, nothing in one sense, no. It means he 
 can't care for me now, that 's all. If he can be 
 attracted by a fat, vulgar woman " 
 
 " It 's not a crime to be fat " 
 
 " Don't take that tone. Leave her out alto- 
 gether. The fact remains that he does n't care 
 for me. If he did, I would I would stay. My 
 life 's one long misery oh, one long misery " 
 she gave a little sob " but I would do my 
 duty if he cared. I hate the life ; I hate the 
 place ; it 's all wrong. I 'm surrounded by peo- 
 ple who hate me and I hate them, I hate them. 
 But if he cared Charlie, do you care? " 
 
 " Yes, dearest, I care. But listen to me. 
 You exaggerate things. Your husband 's not 
 the type of man you 've known best. I dare- 
 say he 's reserved, and that sort of thing. But 
 he does n't ill-use you does he? and he lets 
 you do as you like "
 
 124 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " Oh, stop, stop. As if that were the point ! 
 You know it 's not. It 's chivalrous of you to 
 stick up for him " 
 
 A keen sense of humour which could be self- 
 contempt was Skeffington's, in spite of George 
 Ashton's verdict on him, and a look dashed 
 across the eyes he lowered. He knew very 
 well why he stuck up for Nelly's husband. 
 
 " There 's no need," she went on ; "I don't 
 say anything against him. But I can't bear 
 my life, and I don't think I owe him any duty 
 now. He 's quite cold and indifferent to me. 
 That woman makes my life a curse, and he 
 does n't see, or he won't see." 
 
 " There I think you 're wrong," said Skeffing- 
 ton quietly. " So far as I can see, this Mrs. 
 Jack Ashton means you nothing but kind- 
 ness. Possibly she 's not too refined and that, 
 though, upon my word, I don't see that she 's 
 not. If you don't like her, you need n't see 
 her, I suppose. But it 's absurd to blame your 
 husband." 
 
 " You 're all on his side." 
 
 " I 'm on your side, Nelly, whatever you 
 do or say." 
 
 The voice was friendship's, and the girl took
 
 "LIFE'S A FARCE" 125 
 
 it, as others have taken it before now, for love's. 
 She looked at him softly. 
 
 "Well, Charlie?" 
 
 "Well, dearest?" 
 
 " You must know why I sent for you ; " she 
 spoke firmly and frankly. Skeffington stooped 
 over her and kissed her hair. " My dearest," 
 he said. And then he walked to the window 
 and looked out. The trouble in his face gave 
 way to a faint smile. The way of women ! 
 They imagine, he thought, that any man is 
 ready at any moment to run away with any one 
 of them. What utter folly ! How on earth 
 could they live? He was dependent on his 
 wife; Nelly had nothing. It was insane, im- 
 possible. Then the man thought deeply for 
 a moment. He had loved this woman in a sort 
 of way, and such love as he had borne her 
 had by frankness and good comradeship been 
 turned to friendship. Now he loved her no 
 more, and she asked him to sacrifice all the 
 little joys of his life for the pretence. He 
 knew her well enough to know that she wanted 
 him to take her away, did not want a secret 
 intrigue. Yes but but you see his posi- 
 tion was intolerably humorous. He was fixed
 
 126 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 against taking her away, and he made a poor 
 figure there, but if he persuaded her, as he 
 might, that nothing matters, that her husband 
 could never know I do not credit Skeffington 
 with this analysis; he convinced himself for a 
 moment that there was a return of love. But 
 while there was no strong barrier in his code 
 of honour against a secret love with his friend's 
 wife, there was a barrier of a sort, nor was there 
 passion for the woman in him to break it down. 
 But quite unintellectual Irishmen are keen to 
 feel the humour of themselves. So Skeffington 
 sat down by her side, and took her hand and 
 kissed it, while her mouth pouted. 
 
 " You see, my dearest," he saicl, " in this 
 stupid world of ours we have to face facts." 
 She drew her hand away and turned in her 
 chair and looked at him. " Yes, facts. We 're 
 not two children. You know my life, and you 
 know we could not be happy cut off from every- 
 thing. Suppose I were to consent suppose I 
 were to persuade you to leave your husband 
 and come abroad with me, what would happen? 
 I should love you for ever, but could we really 
 be happy? " 
 
 She gasped, and then drew herself together.
 
 "LIFE'S A FARCE" 127 
 
 " Suppose," she said, " that I am ready to 
 face hardships, to face starvation? Suppose I 
 asked you to do this ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear," he said, " it would be to 
 escape from what you don't like, not for my 
 sake. It would be utter folly ! " 
 
 For once in his life Skeffington had a vision of 
 beauty insulted and yet triumphant, of sex su- 
 preme looking down with contempt on sex un- 
 worthy. He was right, and poor Nelly Ashton 
 was wrong, very likely, but for a moment she 
 thought she had meant but consuming love, and 
 so she looked at him. But the look passed, and 
 she was merely a sad woman as she said : 
 " That 's all, Charlie ; good-bye." 
 
 " Ah, but ' he could not then but assert 
 himself. "Need we be utterly unhappy be- 
 cause " and then the door opened, and 
 George Ashton came into the room. 
 
 All the way in the train Mildred had spoken 
 with superior kindness of his wife and had urged 
 him not to remain away from her. It was not 
 perhaps the course a supremely wise person, 
 who wished to reconcile them, would have 
 chosen ; the best intentioned of us cannot be 
 supremely wise. George felt angrier and an-
 
 128 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 grier with his wife, but he came to think it 
 might be unpleasant wisdom and kindness to 
 return that day. He went to a jeweller's shop 
 with Mildred, who chose a ring of about twice 
 the value of the bracelet. The shopman showed 
 him the price in silence, and he credited Mrs. 
 Jack with ignorance while the man smiled in- 
 wardly; but the incident did not increase his 
 cheerfulness. London was used up and dirty 
 and empty. He was cross with it, and finally 
 he, took an early afternoon train to the country. 
 He walked from the station, and, seeing the but- 
 ler in the hall of his house, was told that Lord 
 Skeffington and his wife were in her sitting- 
 room. He went there quickly. 
 
 Skeffington rose with something like alac- 
 rity. George Ashton did not see if the expres- 
 sion which preceded the friendly smile was 
 embarrassment or relief. " How are you, 
 Ashton?" 
 
 "How do you do?" He touched Skeffing- 
 ton's hand and turned to his wife. " You did n't 
 tell me of this pleasure," he said. 
 
 " No ; I thought of it after you went to town. 
 I wanted to consult Charlie about something, 
 and wired to him."
 
 "LIFE'S A FARCE" 129 
 
 " It was very good of you to come." 
 
 " Not at all, I was glad to be of any use. But 
 I expect I ought to be trotting ; my train goes 
 at half-past six." 
 
 " Have you looked it up ? " Nelly asked. 
 
 " Yes," he said with something like irritation. 
 She said good-bye to him with indifference, 
 and George followed him silently out of the 
 room. Skeffington may be pardoned by an 
 epicurean if he cursed the whole affair in his 
 heart. 
 
 " I '11 walk with you to the station," said 
 George. 
 
 They went in silence for a few minutes and 
 then George Ashton, speaking with coolness a 
 little overdone, " If it is not too great a 
 secret, I should like, as an outsider, to know if 
 my wife wanted to consult you on anything 
 serious." 
 
 Skeffington gave a little sigh of relief, and 
 leant against a tree. 
 
 " Look here, Ashton," he said, " I know you 
 must think me a most impertinent brute for 
 coming down like this. What happened was 
 that Mrs. Ashton wished to consult me about 
 something that was worrying her. You 'd gone 
 
 9
 
 130 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 to town, and I suppose she did n't wish to bother 
 you. I 'm one of her oldest friends, and she 
 knew I 'd be delighted to advise her if I could. 
 So she wired to me." 
 
 " I quite see," said George ; " the subject of 
 the advice " 
 
 " Simply it seems there 's been a quarrel 
 between her and Mrs. Jack Ashton " 
 
 " Oh, damnation ! " 
 
 The two victims of feminine animosity laughed. 
 Both, you see, had a sense of humour; and 
 George Ashton did not believe he had any 
 grievance against Skeffington, and Skeffington 
 was irritated against George's wife. They parted 
 friends. 
 
 " Her nerves are over-wrought," said Skeffing- 
 ton. " If I may say so without interfering, I 
 think the truest kindness would be not to take 
 any notice of this business about Mrs. Jack." 
 
 And so it was that Nelly Ashton was over- 
 whelmed with kindness.
 
 OLD FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE 131 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 OLD FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE 
 
 ABOUT seven months later George Ashton was 
 walking slowly along Piccadilly westwards in the 
 late afternoon. He had lunched at his club, and 
 remained there talking aimlessly and drinking 
 with an aim of which he was half-conscious. 
 His pale face was touched with a red that was 
 not of health, and his eyes were slightly sunken. 
 He walked on the north side and gazed at the 
 trees on the other with a sort of vague recollec- 
 tion that once he had enjoyed the sight of Pic- 
 cadilly in the spring. He was presently tapped 
 on the shoulder and started. 
 
 "Crime or debt or nerves?" said a cheerful 
 voice. Mr. Francis Wilmot was as straight as 
 ever, ruddy, and a little bronzed. As the two 
 men shook hands youth was all on the side of 
 the elder. But George's face brightened as he 
 looked at his friend.
 
 132 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " It was nerves, it might have been debt, and 
 one of these fine days, if the world does n't con- 
 duct itself better, it will be crime. You 're still 
 growing younger, Francis; got down to about 
 eighteen. When did you come back Italy, 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes; a week ago, my boy. Been down to 
 Wiltshire ; just back. I 'm on my way to Half- 
 Moon Street : your mother sent me the address." 
 
 " So was I ; the devil sent me the address 
 I mean it 's rather a cormorant of a little house. 
 It 's awfully nice of you ; we '11 go together." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr Wilmot, " these little houses 
 are expensive. But it's all right about that kind 
 of thing, I suppose?" 
 
 "All right? My dear Francis, I'm on the 
 verge of ruing, with a g." It was not the confi- 
 dence of wine ; George Ashton was never reti- 
 cent about material things. " You see, Rowe 
 bores my wife, but I must n't put it on to her, 
 it bores me. We Ve taken this house in Half- 
 Moon Street for a year, took it in October, in 
 fact, and of course Rowe costs something to keep 
 going. I 'm thinking of letting it to Jack." 
 
 " But I thought there was a tradition " 
 
 " Oh, hang tradition." Mr. Wilmot looked at
 
 OLD FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE 133 
 
 him gravely. " One's fathers lived in better 
 times. Besides, Jack 's an Ashton ; in fact he 
 seems to think that entitles him to have it at 
 about a tenth of the right rent. It 's really the 
 most sensible thing. We 're pretty well broke, 
 and Mildred's father died some months ago and 
 left her a lot of money. Died in a very respect- 
 able, Illustrated London News wills, you know 
 sort of way, ' at his house, the Rookery,' or 
 whatever it was called, at Highgate." Mr. Wil- 
 mot grew graver as the other grew more voluble. 
 " She lent I mean it's really the most conve- 
 nient plan. I think of going to Africa or the 
 Wild West or some place to look at it, and my 
 wife would be infernally bored alone at Rowe. 
 You see, Francis, we 've finished our honeymoon. 
 That sounds like theatrical pathos, does n't it ? 
 I don't mean anything serious, and you 're a very 
 old friend." 
 
 " Yes, my boy, I'm a very old friend, and I 
 shall try to act as one." 
 
 " Thank you, Francis," said George and then 
 laughed. " Don't be too old a friend, though. 
 It would be thrown away." 
 
 They walked on in silence to the corner of 
 Half-Moon Street, when George asked if Mr.
 
 134 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 Wilmot liked menageries. " Because with any 
 luck you '11 see a very fair one. A few writing 
 chaps of the baser sort, one or two of the shadier 
 order of plutocrat, and perhaps a notoriously 
 evil liver the only decent element, and a 
 young man whom heaven designed for a 
 lady's maid. Add some dubious actresses and 
 some " 
 
 "Where are your friends?" 
 
 " My wife's friends are mine ; that 's right, 
 isn't it? Mildred Ashton comes pretty often, 
 and my wife will hardly speak to her. I should 
 say she was almost the only real friend we 
 have." 
 
 " I must be older than I expected, George, 
 for somehow I don't like the way you talk." 
 
 George looked at his friend as he took out 
 his latch-key. 
 
 " I assure you I have n't meant a word I said 
 except that Mildred 's a good friend. Good 
 fortune makes me irresponsible." 
 
 He fumbled with the key, and Mr. Wilmot 
 said nothing. When they entered the draw- 
 ing-room, there was no menagerie; there was 
 but one person besides Nelly, and it was Lady 
 Tremayne.
 
 OLD FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE 135 
 
 George's saturnine querulousness vanished 
 at once. The visit was unexpected. Sir 
 Maurice had had a sudden reaction to cheer- 
 fulness and health, and had insisted on coming 
 at once to London and the House of Commons, 
 and they had arrived but the day before. The 
 cordiality of the fact was emphasised in Lady 
 Tremayne's words; temperament and habit 
 compelled an earnestness of expression which 
 gave George, now a little sunk in cynicism, a 
 slight feeling of awkwardness. Nelly, at war 
 with the world, permitted herself a faint smile 
 which her husband saw and resented. But 
 presently she was engrossed by the chatter of 
 Francis Wilmot, and George talked freely and 
 with relief to Lady Tremayne. It was to him 
 like smelling some dear and forgotten perfume ; 
 disappointed passion is not healed in this way, 
 but a starved brain and sympathy went out to 
 her, and the old relation was in rapid re-estab- 
 lishment. When she rose to go, she asked 
 the Ashtons to dine with her on their first free 
 day. " But I must see you again before then. 
 I shall be in all to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 " Of course I '11 come," said George. 
 
 " And you too, I hope? We have arrears of 
 acquaintance to make up."
 
 136 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " I 'm afraid I 've promised to be at home 
 thank you very much," said Nelly, " but you 
 will have a lot to talk over with George." 
 
 The awkwardness of the remark struck Lady 
 Tremayne, and the smile of conventional cor- 
 diality, which a real intention of friendliness had 
 repressed, appeared on her face. 
 
 Mr. Wilmot looked gravely on the proceed- 
 ings. In common with many men of his 
 age, a relation other than acquaintanceship or 
 maternal friendship between a woman of thirty- 
 six and a man five years her junior, annoyed 
 him, and remembering past gossip he was not 
 sure of the relation in this case. He had re- 
 instated himself as champion of Nelly, and 
 guessing the turn events had taken, was inclined 
 to blame the husband exclusively. These mod- 
 ern young men, he thought, these clever young 
 men, with their ideas and their paradoxes and 
 their views of life and their infernal nonsense, 
 did not know how to manage a girl. When he 
 was young, a beautitul, spirited girl she had 
 been spirited like this one would have been 
 happy with him, and then he thought of George 
 Ashton's mother and at once was kindly towards 
 George, and, looking keenly in his face, remem-
 
 OLD FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE 137 
 
 bered his father. Poor boy, his path of life was 
 tangled before his birth. He shook hands 
 affectionately with him as he left " You young 
 men hate sentiment," he said, "but if you want 
 a friend, my boy, remember I Ve known you all 
 your life." 
 
 " A fearful retrospect, Francis ; pity chronol- 
 ogy makes the moral too late. No, don't think 
 I 'm ungrateful I daresay I shall be trouble- 
 some to you yet." A slight artificiality of words, 
 an accident in this case, is an infallible proof of 
 insincerity to down-right people; Mr. Wilmot's 
 irritation returned. 
 
 As they sat, the next afternoon, in a corner 
 of the twisted drawing-room in Lowndes Street, 
 Lady Tremayne looked anxiously at George 
 Ashton, the while he discussed the import of a 
 lonely house in Ireland and Sir Maurice's ague. 
 He kept himself resolutely from his affairs, con- 
 scious of course that the omission was signifi- 
 cant, but unable to talk of them to this old 
 friend without saying more than he designed. 
 He was in a different mood from that which had 
 caused his indiscretion to Mr. Wilmot the day 
 before, and, moreover, he approached Clara Tre- 
 mayne with a deeper consciousness. But Lady
 
 138 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 Tremayne wanted to hear, and ultimately of course 
 she was told. She had not, however, nor would 
 she have used, that malicious tact by which such 
 confidences are induced to the confider's self- 
 execration. It was a straightforward asking and 
 giving of confidence. 
 
 One need not go about to discuss if the con- 
 fidence were in any way excusable ; at least 
 George Ashton made it in the manner of a gen- 
 tleman, blaming himself much and his wife not at 
 all. He had been a fool, he said, who had made 
 a great blunder, and he had not wisdom or tem- 
 per to retrieve it. His wife's idea of life was not 
 his, and he despaired of her changing it. He 
 disliked her friends, and his dislike, whether 
 creditable or not, made no impression on her, 
 and his friends had not the luck to be accept- 
 able. But of course she was right to stick to 
 her friends, and right not to play the hypocrite 
 with his. Only, only it was not convenient 
 And somehow, somehow they did not amuse 
 one another. It may be conjectured that a 
 social philosopher hearing these grievances 
 would have taken them for symbols of some- 
 thing deeper, which, in some base, analytical 
 manner, he would have pretended to discover.
 
 OLD FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE 139 
 
 It is certain that Mr. Wilmot would have been 
 so far at one with the philosopher as to brush 
 aside the grievances as unessential and absurd. 
 Lady Tremayne took them seriously as cov- 
 ering the ground ; she deplored and she 
 suggested. 
 
 And as she deplored and suggested, the tale of 
 them ended, for the assumption, which she could 
 not but have made, that the woman was wholly in 
 the wrong, clashed against the man's generosity. 
 And she not over resisting, he turned the conver- 
 sation to themselves. What pleasant times had 
 been ! " Yes, dear George, they were very pleas- 
 ant." What a muddle the world was ! " Yes, 
 that is it just a muddle." The lady spoke 
 faintly. A play of sighs, let us call it a comedy. 
 She had not a great deal of humour, but George 
 Ashton had enough for a gibe or two at the 
 world, at fate, and at himself drawing this 
 superfluous distinction whereat the lady looked 
 wistful and troubled, and he, seeing the look, 
 pressed her hand and spoke seriously. " Dear 
 friend, it is good of you to care what happens 
 to such a worthless creature; you were always 
 my best friend." 
 
 Lady Tremayne had been very lonely for
 
 140 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 many months, brooding, sentimentalising it may 
 be called. She was wearied with constant at- 
 tendance on her husband, she was weak and 
 had thought too much o' nights. Lady Tre- 
 mayne began to cry, and George Ashton, as 
 was inevitable, began to comfort her. He was 
 genuinely distressed, and her tears called up in 
 him a tenderness of tone which perhaps he had 
 learned from long intercourse with his mother. 
 What wonder if Clara Tremayne, hysterical for 
 a moment and full of sympathy and regrets, 
 cheated herself? She drooped towards him. 
 It was all innocent in her mind ; she had longed 
 for sympathy, as she called it still, and this man 
 had been in her thoughts for long, and they had 
 been the best friends in the world, and he had 
 made shipwreck of his life, she thought. 
 
 And so, when George Ashton left the house 
 of his comforter, he had added to the interests 
 of his life a sentimental dalliance with a woman 
 for whom he did not really care. I could tell 
 you with exactitude what view of all this would 
 have been held by Mr. Wilmot But as folly 
 goes in the world, I think George Ashton's con- 
 tempt of himself was adequate. He went again 
 to Lowndes Street two days later, all the same,
 
 OLD FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE 141 
 
 for response is necessary, and three days after 
 that he went again, and people who left him 
 there in possession made their amusing com- 
 ments, and the world is small. It came to be 
 the duty of Mrs. Jack Ashton to remind Nelly 
 that the best of husbands sometimes need care 
 in the management of them, and that George 
 and Lady Tremayne had been talked about 
 aforetime. Nelly of course said nothing to 
 him, but the suggestion, as may happen to the 
 most good-natured of them, was unhappy in its 
 issues.
 
 142 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE END OF A LECTURE 
 
 MR. WlLMOT, having talked to Nelly and 
 observed her husband two or three times, and 
 having brought a practical intelligence to bear 
 upon the situation, had taken a resolution. He 
 asked George to dine with him alone at his 
 house, and as they smoked after dinner an- 
 nounced an intention of speaking seriously. 
 George waited despondently, with some of that in- 
 stinctive nervousness that comes inevitably upon 
 us when those who have known us all our lives 
 take us to task, and we feel something of our 
 childhood's incapacity to answer. 
 
 "You see," said Mr. Wilmot, "I knew your 
 father very well, and your mother 's my oldest 
 and my best friend. You and I have always 
 been on good terms. I Ve not the slightest 
 right to interfere in your affairs, and you can 
 stop me the moment you think me impertinent. 
 But I 'm a very old friend, and have seen some-
 
 THE END OF A LECTURE 143 
 
 thing of life, and sometimes plain speaking is a 
 good thing." 
 
 George by this had nerved himself; it was 
 after dinner, and he looked at the old man with 
 a smile. 
 
 "That's your experience, is it? But be as 
 plain as you like." 
 
 " It 's about your wife and you." 
 
 " She 's always interesting, but could n't you 
 leave me out? " 
 
 The tone grated on Mr. Wilmot. " You two 
 are making a mess of things simply for want of 
 understanding one another." 
 
 " It sounds like ' he died from ceasing to 
 live/ doesn't it?" 
 
 " She 's a sweet girl, my boy, and you 're not 
 a bad fellow either if it was n't for your modern 
 ideas about things." 
 
 " I assure you I have n't a single idea that 's 
 newer than Aristippus and Solomon at least 
 he didn't write Ecclesiastes, did he? You 
 know I always regret those questions of author- 
 ship " 
 
 "Say frankly if you wish me to stop." 
 
 George paused for a moment. "No, Francis, 
 I beg your pardon; go on."
 
 144 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " I think you Ve both got fads about things, 
 but I tell you honestly, I think you are most to 
 blame. A man of thirty who marries a young 
 girl should be able to master her and make her 
 happy just by being her master. Now, you 
 leave her alone, and then you criticise her. A 
 girl ought n't to be criticised ; she ought simply 
 to be told what 's best." 
 
 " Mohammedan ! I don't much like defend- 
 ing myself on such a matter, but I '11 say this 
 much: I thought I was acting for the best in 
 giving her rational liberty." 
 
 " Rational liberty be damned ! " 
 
 " It seems as if it would, certainly. As for 
 criticising her, if she fills the house with a lot of 
 tag-rag, pretentious outsiders " 
 
 "You used to have friends of your own. 
 Why did n't you surround her with them ? " 
 
 "Why? I tried a little. Somehow one's 
 women friends don't swarm round one's wife. 
 My men friends clashed a bit with hers." 
 
 " You ought to be independent of friends." 
 
 " Oh, of course. But when we had discussed 
 the ideas we had in common " he broke off 
 with a slight shrug. 
 
 " Ideas in common ! Upon my soul, George,
 
 THE END OF A LECTURE 145 
 
 you young men appal me! Ideas in com- 
 mon ! " 
 
 Mr. Wilmot was perplexed. At length he 
 said : " I tell you what it is, George ; you ought 
 to have a profession work. Work." 
 
 George laughed naturally. " You 're a little 
 hard up for a remedy, Francis. What useful 
 career does your experience suggest?" 
 
 " It 's no use rounding on me, my boy. I 
 never had a minute to spare, though I Ve done 
 no work at all. I never had time for morbid 
 notions. Ideas in common ! " 
 
 " I give that up. I only spoke in the jargon 
 one knows. You know what I meant we don't 
 seem to appeal oh, never mind. I'll take 
 another brandy, if I may." 
 
 If Mr. Wilmot had been of his guest's own age, 
 he might have been able to comment without 
 offence on one of his guest's habits, from the 
 point of view of another sufferer. As it was, he 
 could only think in silence that trouble seemed 
 likely to drive this boy in the way of his father. 
 The thought banished all banter from his tone. 
 
 " Perhaps I Ve said too much, my boy ; this is 
 the upshot of it all. I want you to remember 
 your wife 's very young, and that with her plain 
 J9
 
 146 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 speaking and open affection are worth all the 
 fine ideas and clever criticisms in the world. Be 
 there more, encourage her to see less dubious 
 people, even if they 're not so wonderful. Your 
 cousin Jack's wife for instance " 
 
 " Nelly hates her." 
 
 "Ah, yes, she said something like that. 
 Women have their fads they don't mean any- 
 thing. She is n't in good health, you know. But 
 brace one another up. Pull yourself together, 
 my boy. Do some work, writing or something 
 of that sort. Better still, take your wife for a 
 voyage. Look here, if you '11 let an old friend 
 do it, I '11 find a yacht and we '11 go together." 
 
 " I could n't let you do that, Francis. But I '11 
 try to get Nelly to come to Scotland for a week. 
 You know Bob Adair? He 's one of my oldest 
 chums, though I 've not seen him of late ; he 
 won't leave Scotland ; he and his wife they 've 
 not finished their honeymoon, you know. I '11 
 ask him to take us in and I '11 remember what 
 you 've said." 
 
 And shortly afterwards he went away and 
 walked straight to his house. Of course he 
 thought that Francis Wilmot did not understand 
 things, was narrow and antiquated. But he was
 
 THE END OF A LECTURE 147 
 
 not blind nor locked in a priggery, this poor 
 husband, and he felt that something in Mr. Wil- 
 mot's tone, something in his frank laughter and 
 perplexity, was right and on the side of the nature 
 of things. 
 
 His wife was reading in the drawing-room, 
 and he sat down by her side. 
 
 " Nelly, I want to say something to you." 
 
 She put her finger in the book to keep the 
 place and looked up with intentional indiffer- 
 ence. "Yes?" 
 
 He wavered and pulled himself together. 
 
 " I know I 'm not satisfactory, Nelly ; I know 
 you have reason not to be content. I say 
 nothing on the other side. But can't we try 
 to be better friends? If you can't care for me 
 much in one way, can't we still get on together 
 without without this coldness?" 
 
 A while ago, she would have turned to him 
 forthwith. But the time was gone and she 
 met him with this question. 
 
 " May I ask if anybody suggested this to you, 
 George ? Did Lady Tremayne ? " 
 
 He walked across the room, and spoke 
 abruptly from before the fireplace. 
 
 " No. I wish to know why you ask."
 
 148 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " Merely that she seems a great friend of 
 yours." 
 
 " She is a great friend of mine. She did not 
 suggest this ; there was no possibility that she 
 should. I only but it's hopeless. Sorry I 
 interrupted your reading." 
 
 As he left the room, she looked after him 
 with doubt and trouble. Then she gave an 
 empty little laugh, and turned to her book, 
 to throw it away presently and go to her 
 room. 
 
 He asked her the next day if she would come 
 with him to Scotland to stay a week with his 
 great friends, the Adairs, and she said she 
 could not leave her engagements. 
 
 " Do you mind if I go for a week? I 'm 
 rather seedy." 
 
 "A week? Oh, no."
 
 IN FRESHER AIR 149 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN FRESHER AIR 
 
 POUF! It is pleasant, as the train goes 
 north, to let down the window for a healthy 
 smack from the blithe fresh air. Pouf! It 
 rushes through the railway carriage and drives 
 out of t' other window London and dust and 
 grime and blurred ideals, and perverse develop- 
 ments, and all unwholesome communications. 
 George Ashton was leaving behind him for a 
 space the troubles of his or others' making, his 
 wavering restless sorrow, his tedious distrac- 
 tions, his weary comedy of consolation. A 
 painted, hollow life he felt it to be, unworthy, 
 almost vile. He knew it was a man's business 
 to master it or break through it, and he knew 
 he was failing miserably, But pouf! here 
 was a moment for fresh air. He was on his 
 way to unthinking friendship, to harmless, irre- 
 sponsible fun, to simple kindness. All of the
 
 ISO THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 boy that was left in George Ashton was agog to 
 be there. 
 
 Meanwhile his hosts were sitting over a late 
 breakfast, and the kind gods saw no happier 
 little party in these isles than Bob Adair, and 
 Fanny his wife, Madeleine his sister, and 
 Tommy Tucker his wife's cousin. Bob Adair's 
 father had married a Frenchwoman, and Bob, 
 at least, was more French than English. His 
 father had cared for his wife's country better 
 than for his own, and Bob and his sister had 
 lived most of their lives in France, the former 
 being educated by an English tutor until he 
 was old enough for Oxford. Two years before 
 this narrative, he had married the sister of an 
 Oxford chum, and, his father dying shortly after- 
 wards, had tried the experiment of living in the 
 house which descended to him in Dumfriesshire, 
 to pleasure his wife's national predilections, and 
 to favour secluded love. The experiment was 
 a great success, and with the exception of a 
 short visit to Paris and to London they had 
 remained cooing in Dumfriesshire Bob was a 
 barrister by profession ever since. They 
 were an unending delight to one another. 
 Fanny was a Scotchwoman of a type one knows,
 
 IN FRESHER AIR 151 
 
 compact of life and kindliness, good breeding 
 and common sense. Bob was an Anglicised 
 Frenchman, a good sportsman, and a perfect 
 host, with a thousand pretty homages for his 
 wife, a thousand harmless, irrepressible follies. 
 He laughed at and worshipped her prejudices 
 and her occasional stateliness; she loved and 
 marvelled at his gaiety and quickness and per- 
 petual amusement. They were seldom without 
 a guest or two to behold their happiness Bob 
 especially craving for the world to salute and 
 sympathise and never a guest but envied and 
 granted it was deserved. 
 
 Everybody knew Tommy Tucker, whose real 
 Christian name was Alexander. His age was 
 twenty-five years, and sometimes he seemed to 
 be thirteen, and sometimes about three hundred. 
 He talked incessantly, sometimes with penetra- 
 tion and with wit, more often sheer inanity. 
 His profession was having been private secretary 
 to an eminent actor, and intending to go some 
 day to South Africa. Most people thought him 
 an amiable idiot, a few that he was a genius in 
 disguise, and nobody took his words or his 
 actions seriously. Nobody but liked him ; the 
 first instinct of everybody would have been to
 
 152 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 laugh at any conceivable misfortune that could 
 have happened to him. The idea of Tommy in 
 a railway accident, or of Tommy as the victim of 
 an unhappy love would have seemed obviously 
 ludicrous. And if Tommy had his share of 
 human woes, he was never known to mention 
 them or only from a humorous point of view. 
 Yet he was called upon very often to sympathise 
 with other peoples' debts and lamentable emo- 
 tions. In appearance he was a stout young 
 man, beautifully dressed, and with very neat 
 hair. He was thought to be a lover of the 
 pavement, but now he stayed away from the 
 London season in content, for the sake of his 
 board and lodging, he told his entertainers, who 
 said he was rather a nice thing to have about 
 the house. This was the view of the world 
 concerning Tommy Tucker, whom it seemed to 
 satisfy. 
 
 There was never a photograph of her taken 
 in the least like Madeleine Adair. Looks shot 
 acrpss her face like ideas in a quick brain. In 
 repose it was very grave for her age, which was 
 twenty-two, but with a gravity individual and 
 various. It was seldom in repose, however, but 
 lighted for this or that chance remark from this
 
 IN FRESHER AIR 153 
 
 or that person. She had lived all her life with 
 people more than commonly amiable, and with 
 them exclusively, and had therefore neither 
 diffidence nor distance in her ..manner. Her 
 gaiety was as constant and as ready as her 
 brother's, but she had not his universal lightness. 
 Certain subjects made her grave subjects, 
 partly, that are absurdly thought to have reached 
 our women yesterday for the first time and on 
 them she could speak to her brother or his wife 
 with eagerness, and with something of French 
 logic and detachment of mind. Her mother, 
 between whom and her there had been love 
 without reserve, had died when she was seven- 
 teen, and her father had made her his constant 
 companion. For the three years between then 
 and his death she read and talked constantly 
 with him on lines that were commoner for 
 women in Elizabeth's time than in the genera- 
 tions nearer our own, if our own, as some think, 
 has really reverted to them. On his wife's death, 
 her father's love of the ways of men had deserted 
 him, and although he did not shut himself from 
 French society, he fell back more and more 
 on books and abstractions. He was grown too 
 French to leave France permanently, but what
 
 154 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 had been an innocent worldliness was succeeded 
 by its antithesis, which his education made pos- 
 sible. Madeleine was accomplished and she had 
 been taught how to think. She was a beautiful 
 girl in ordinary eyes and for eyes that could 
 see had a beauty that, sympathetic or not to 
 them, was there to remember for ever, an ideal. 
 Black hair parted over a forehead where brains, 
 for once, seemed to be at peace with beauty, a 
 pale fine face, its chin distinct and firm, its 
 mouth delicately carved, its nose a little long 
 and perfectly straight, large eyes, dark brown 
 and heavy-lidded, made for archness, you would 
 have said, in a face less fine, in her prone to a 
 friendly irony these bald facts may help to fix 
 what the outline of her history has suggested. 
 Her cheeks were rounded girlishly; she would 
 have been thought tall before our age of giant- 
 esses, and her figure was slight and erect. Mrs. 
 Adair, a very few years older than she, thought 
 her a dear scatterbrain and regarded her with 
 maternal protection. To Bob she was a sort of 
 better self. 
 
 " Mr. Ashton 's coming by the morning train, 
 Maddo," said Mrs. Adair, " instead of to-night ; 
 so we shall have him to dinner."
 
 IN FRESHER AIR 155 
 
 " I wonder how he's altered," said Made- 
 leine. The habit of French had merely given 
 a distinctness to her English, balancing prettily 
 the Scotch distinctness of Mrs. Adair. " It is 
 eight or nine years since I saw him at Oxford." 
 
 " Altered a good deal," said Bob. " He was 
 always moody, you know, and had alarming 
 fits of seriousness, and the disease seems to 
 have become chronic. When I saw him in 
 town last he looked responsible for all our sins. 
 Since his marriage you know." 
 
 " Yes, it does make a chap look rather an 
 ass," said Tommy. 
 
 "Nice Tommy! " 
 
 " Oh, you 're different ; you only play at it." 
 
 "We '11 marry you to somebody if you don't 
 take care, little boy." 
 
 " At Trinity Church I met my doom," chanted 
 Tom who could fit you a music hall refrain to 
 sentiment or situation, and Madeleine laughed 
 and smiled at him. He went on talking at 
 once. "Let me see; Ashton, where does he 
 come in? I've met him, but what is he? I 
 hope he does something ; I hate a fellow who 
 wastes his life , every man ought to have a pro- 
 fession, barrister or secretary or something. 
 Got a place somewhere, has n't he? "
 
 156 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 " Yes, Rowe," said Bob ; " a charming old 
 house, I stayed there often when I was at 
 Oxford. A mother too, dear sweet old lady." 
 
 " Oh, of course if he 's a squire and a good 
 son, I daresay he fills a proper place in the 
 community. Chap can't do everything." 
 
 " Yes, and now he has a beautiful wife." 
 
 " I know ; I met her ages ago when I was 
 a boy," said Tommy in melancholy cadence. 
 " And I suppose they 're happy all day long. 
 I like to see it in the young." 
 
 Bob Adair and his wife joined eyes for a 
 moment. 
 
 " She won't come," said Mrs. Adair ; " I was 
 so sorry. She 's really very lovely, Maddo." 
 
 " About meeting him," said Bob. " I sup- 
 pose we must go to those excellent people in 
 the afternoon, Fan?" 
 
 " If Mr. Ashton won't think it rude ; it 's a 
 long engagement." 
 
 " All right ; Tommy can meet him." 
 
 " No, I '11 go," said Madeleine, " you can tell 
 the Grays I am ill, and it will be more friendly 
 to Mr. Ashton. He would think the whole 
 affair was a burlesque if he was met by Tommy. 
 I '11 take the dog-cart."
 
 IN FRESHER AIR 157 
 
 "Is that all right, Fan?" asked Bob with 
 immense anxiety. " Do the conventions per- 
 mit it? Are you sure we sha'n't be sent to 
 prison? Will it shock anybody? The station 
 master ; I can't allow that excellent man to be 
 driven into downward courses by bad example." 
 
 " I think she can go," said Mrs. Adair, with a 
 simple air of deciding a matter of real importance, 
 at which Bob laughed. 
 
 " Besides, Tommy can go too." 
 
 " It 's risking my life " 
 " Oh, Tommy frightens the horse " 
 
 And ultimately Tommy did not go. Bob spoke 
 to his sister with an unusually serious air later 
 that morning. " You know, Mad," he said, 
 " George Ashton 's a very great friend of mine. 
 He was my best chum at Oxford and did me 
 more than one good service. His mother, too, 
 was very kind to me; you know I was pretty 
 well alone in England then. We 've kept up 
 the intimacy, though we Ve not seen each other 
 much." 
 
 " Yes, dear, I know ' 
 
 " Well, but there 's a special reason for saying 
 it. There's no harm in telling you that he 's in 
 great trouble. Two or three people have told
 
 158 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 me ; his cousin's wife, for instance, a very Eng- 
 lish but very good sort of woman, hinted pretty 
 plainly that he and his wife you understand. 
 He shows it too, very plainly, in his way of 
 looking and talking. I want him to feel down 
 here that he 's really among friends, people who 
 care for him something more than ordinary 
 hospitality. Fanny 's known him more or less 
 for years and likes him, and I 'm sure you '11 like 
 him too. You see what I mean? That's why I 
 let you go to the station " 
 
 " Let me go? Baby brother ! " 
 
 "Mad Maddo so that he might get the 
 right impresssion at first. I really feel about 
 this. In fact, I rather wish Tommy was n't here ; 
 it would make things easier in a way." 
 
 " Don't send poor Tommy away, dear. But 
 you really are a nice old boy. Dear Bobby ! " 
 
 " That 's all right, then. One has such a jolly 
 time oneself, that in the case of a real friend 
 you see, Maddo." 
 
 So spoke, in the simple warmth of his heart, 
 Bob Adair, most affectionate of brothers.
 
 FOLLY 159 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 FOLLY 
 
 So when George Ashton, the only passenger, 
 got out of the carriage at the little station, he 
 was aware of a slight and tall young figure in a 
 close-fitting dress, of an outstretched hand, of a 
 beautiful face smiling welcome upon him. 
 
 " You don't know me, Mr. Ashton? I 'm Bob's 
 sister." 
 
 " Of course I do ; " and indeed he remembered 
 very well the girl of thirteen who came with her 
 beautiful, gracious mother and Bob Adair to his 
 rooms at Oxford, a thoughtful little girl, 
 grave but not shy, with long black hair and 
 serious heavy-lidded eyes. He looked curiously 
 at the development, the perfectly finished fea- 
 tures, the character in the chin and the sugges- 
 tion of irony in the eyes, and as he looked there 
 came on him, as on all men who have any grace 
 about them, when first they see a finely beautiful
 
 160 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 girl, a feeling that consciously or not is 
 reverence. She talked gaily of his journey and 
 Bob's messages as they walked to the dog-cart, 
 and she started the horse at a sharp trot, sitting 
 very upright as she drove. 
 
 " Is the world still made of cream cheese, as 
 you told me at Oxford, and are all the proverbs 
 still to be taken upside-down ? " 
 
 " The world 's made of sanded sugar, and the 
 proverbs are painfully true." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! but this is out of the world. 
 You '11 find us all lunatics. I hope there 's a 
 cap and bells in your portmanteau. If there 
 isn't, Bob has several to spare, and Tommy 
 Tucker a hundred at least." 
 
 " Is he here ? I thought he was going to South 
 Africa." 
 
 " If you tell him that, he '11 be grateful to you 
 forever. No ; he really won't be allowed to go, 
 he 's such a dear, sympathetic idiot. I believe we 
 have a great friend in common, Mr. Ashton, 
 Lady Tremayne." 
 
 The announcement was not the most delightful 
 in the world to George Ashton. Talking of noth- 
 ing to this bright girl, with the fresh wind blowing 
 in his face, and the pretty country and the un-
 
 FOLLY 161 
 
 familiar stone walls about him, he had forgotten 
 all his perplexities. Of late his relations to 
 Lady Tremayne had taken a turn he knew to be 
 insincere. His friendship for her had been real 
 and continued, but of late a suggestion of might- 
 have-beens, and a manner thereunto conforming, 
 into which he had fallen unwittingly, jarred upon 
 his honesty. His nerves responded to the recol- 
 lection ; he even had for a moment an absurd 
 idea that this girl might have heard something 
 of the intimacy. As a matter of fact, Madeleine 
 Adair had seen little of Lady Tremayne ; with 
 a simple assurance of response, she always 
 deemed anybody who pleased her much a great 
 friend. She had suddenly remembered having 
 seen a photograph of George Ashton at the 
 Tremayne's, and that was all. 
 
 " Yes, I know her very well. Sir Maurice is 
 an old friend of my mother's ; I used to see them 
 often at one time." 
 
 " The Bruce-Chattertons were some of the 
 very few English people my father kept up with. 
 She stayed with us in Paris once, before her 
 marriage, and my father and I stayed with 
 them in Ireland three years ago. I heard from 
 her the other day; in fact I may go to stay
 
 1 62 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 with her in town. Don't you think she 's very 
 beautiful?" 
 
 The question was as absolutely honest as may 
 be, but George Ashton, remembering Lady Tre- 
 mayne as he had seen her last, beautiful, cer- 
 tainly, and with a beauty more than that of 
 feature, our words for these things are too 
 few, but tired and weary, and looking at length 
 her years, and seeing now this girl in the open- 
 ing of her powers and her loveliness undimmed, 
 could not choose but compare them, He might 
 have thought (but such thoughts hardly come 
 to us in conversation) that the pathos of her 
 young perfection was something keener than that 
 of Lady Tremayne's life unrealised. 
 
 He made the natural answer, and they talked 
 superficially of people and places until they 
 reached the house. But Ashton was refreshed 
 as he had not been for many a day ; the girl's 
 musical voice, her distinct intonation, her little 
 friendly, familiar phrases, the kind, frank glances 
 he met now and again, the whole effect of un- 
 thinking but never silly innocence and joy, de- 
 lighted this weary dweller in the dark in a degree 
 few men deserve ; the man in him was attracted, 
 and the boy in him was grateful.
 
 FOLLY 163 
 
 Glenburn was a Georgian stone house, of those 
 which are less beautiful than even many a mod- 
 ern house, and yet are infinitely more pleasing to 
 some foolish folk among us, because of the sug- 
 gestion of a time they love better than their own ; 
 you feel (say these) that tragedies not wholly 
 inartistic may have passed behind the windows. 
 Its present use pictorially was, however, to serve 
 as a background to Tommy Tucker, who took 
 the air with slow and careful tread before the hall 
 door. He received Ashton with rather a grave 
 politeness, and at once began to chaff Madeleine 
 on her driving, more freely, George thought, than 
 mirth demanded. Here was a discomposing ele- 
 ment at once, a young man who had quite the 
 air of one section of his wife's friends. 
 
 But at dinner a surlier man than he would 
 have been forced into amiability. Bob Adair 
 and his sister talked incessant folly, while Mrs. 
 Adair beamed upon them and started fresh trains 
 of it with her common-sense. Tommy was 
 graver than his wont, but presently thawed under 
 Madeleine's mock appeals and made his conver- 
 sational grimaces. George Ashton laughed, and 
 by-and-bye responded, and, as he did so, Tommy 
 Tucker's politeness relaxed into more friendly
 
 164 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 rudeness. The talk of this dinner was not the 
 crackling thorns of the Skeffingtons and Ashtons 
 at Rowe. It was intimate, irresponsible, some- 
 times witty, and therefore shall be left to your 
 imagination. It was wine to George Ashton, but 
 like wine to a convalescent, could be taken only 
 with strangeness and diffidence at first The 
 bitterness of his life, the sense of hostility he had 
 felt, made it difficult to him to assimilate at once 
 this wine of perfect friendliness and gaiety. But 
 gradually his former mood fell away, and he 
 talked without thinking and with appreciation in 
 his eyes. And so talking, he neglected his 
 actual wine upon the table. 
 
 There was music after dinner. Mrs. Adair 
 sang a song or two of her country; Madeleine, 
 whose singing voice was low and sweet and 
 lingering, some simple French songs of the 
 provinces ; Tommy Tucker disported his portly 
 frame in z.pas seul. When George Ashton went 
 to bed he told himself that a weight of years 
 was eased for a while from his shoulders, and 
 alas ! did not remember that little more than a 
 year ago he had been the happiest man in the 
 world. No wonder the gods grow tired of 
 blessing.
 
 FOLLY 165 
 
 So the days went by at Glenburn. The fresh 
 air and the simple life and the unbroken friend- 
 liness and fun had a natural effect on George 
 Ashton. And he was still a young man and the 
 time was spring. It happened that on three or 
 four occasions he took long walks with Made- 
 leine Adair, that he sat and talked with her alone, 
 that he heard her sing when there was none by 
 to disturb the magic. Bob and his wife had 
 social duties Madeleine did not choose to share; 
 Tommy Tucker went away on a three days' 
 visit to friends in the same county. The world 
 revolves upon its axis. Here was a man who 
 had had a romance of the heart and the head, 
 and the heart had not survived the head's be- 
 trayal. He had capacity for romance and 
 worship beyond the common, easy to disturb, 
 but firm when no disturbance was possible. He 
 was intensely appreciative of beauty when grace 
 and manner were its complement And he was 
 man enough to feel down in his bones a feeling 
 which his wife had partly roused, and afterwards 
 in the chances of life checked pitiably, a tender- 
 ness for pure and wholesome youth ; and in him 
 passion which the chances of life had ill-used 
 was not destroyed. Here was a girl in the first
 
 166 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 flower of her womanhood, almost perfectly en- 
 dowed, and almost perfectly nurtured ; fine and 
 wholesome, kind and delicate and frank. 
 
 Here, on the other hand, was a girl of strong 
 feelings, of grasping brain, quick to perceive 
 qualities, eager and grateful for response. And 
 here was a man cultivated beyond question, 
 and thoughtful, absolutely delicate in expression, 
 naturally sympathetic, and keen to understand. 
 And they were alone with a pair of cooing doves 
 in Scotland. 
 
 But George Ashton was married and an 
 honourable man, and Madeleine Adair was 
 pure-minded as a poor civilised creature may 
 be, and conceived no possibility of what she 
 knew as sin. 
 
 They drifted inevitably into intimacy, he tel- 
 ling her of some of his ambitions, which were 
 broken, vaguely of his troubles, as of part of 
 his faults ; she talking of her life in France, of 
 her mother, how perfect she was, and of her 
 companionship with her father. 
 
 Tommy Tucker returned rollicking, but after 
 a day was grave. His manner to Madeleine 
 changed ; the chaff was modified into nothing, 
 the fits of mock sulkiness disappeared. He
 
 FOLLY 167 
 
 become seriously and evenly cordial ; a sort of 
 consideration came into his friendship. He 
 quietly attached himself to her, and followed 
 her in a manner she could not dispute, while 
 she more than once broke out against him, and 
 raked him with criticism. He looked at her 
 very keenly once when this had happened, and 
 she faltered : 
 
 " Dear Tommy, I beg your pardon ; indeed I 
 do," and came and shook his hand, and there- 
 after turned on him no more. On the third day 
 of his return he found Mrs. Adair alone. 
 
 " Ashton and Maddo get on well together," 
 he said. 
 
 Mrs. Adair looked troubled. "They do," 
 she answered. 
 
 " When does he go? " 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 " Will you press him to stay? " 
 
 " Why, Tommy? You don't mean " 
 
 " I do mean. Fan, you know I 'm not a mean 
 beast. You know what Maddo is to me, and 
 that it's all no use, no use at all." Tommy 
 Tucker took a turn about the room. " I 'm not 
 thinking of myself. I 'd better go away too, 
 so far as that's concerned. Ashton's a good
 
 168 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 chap, I 'm sure. But you see how he attracts 
 Maddo ; he 's very clever and that, and there 's 
 nobody else. ... I dare say I 'm a vulgar brute 
 
 but it might mean unhappiness to her. Let 
 him go." 
 
 " I shall not ask him to stay. Oh, Tommy, 
 you poor boy ! " 
 
 " Oh, rot about me. That 's of no con- 
 sequence." 
 
 That night was fine, and after dinner Made- 
 leine put on her cloak and invited George to 
 stroll with her, without subterfuge, before the 
 others. They walked up and down the short 
 avenue, talking of abstract things, and by-and- 
 bye sat down on a seat near the house, in 
 silence for a while. Then George made a little 
 gesture of despair. 
 
 " If one could stay for ever " 
 
 She did not answer for a minute, and then 
 said softly: "Everything ends. You must go 
 
 may I say it? you must go back to your 
 wife." 
 
 " It 's leaving the only heaven I Ve known. 
 Forgive me : I 'm a blackguard to talk like 
 that no, only a fool." 
 
 " You must go back to your wife," whispered
 
 FOLLY 169 
 
 Madeleine, faintly. Then she gave a little sob, 
 and turned her head away. 
 
 Ashton did not try to comfort her. He sat 
 in silence, hating himself, not even pitying 
 himself, but seeing, or thinking he saw, very 
 clearly, that here might have been the one 
 chance of his life. And Madeleine kept back 
 her tears, had after a minute no need to strive. 
 She faced herself bravely; she pitied him, 
 knowing what all women know; there were 
 things to her impossible. And so for a while 
 these luckless two plighted their trothless troth 
 in silence under the inconstant moon. 
 
 The next morning Ashton went away, and 
 Tommy Tucker shook him heartily by the 
 hand, and Bob Adair hugged his sister that 
 afternoon, and went quickly away to curse him- 
 self by all his gods.
 
 1 70 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 MR. MORRISON'S WRONGS 
 
 A FEW mornings later Jack Ashton and his 
 wife talked, without the difficulty less healthy 
 people experience, over their breakfast. Mrs. 
 Jack looked particularly well and handsome ; the 
 mourning she wore for her respectably deceased 
 father was an advantage to an abundant figure. 
 
 " About Rowe," said Jack, " I don't suppose 
 George '11 take what we offer. You know he 
 could get three times as much with any luck. 
 We can't expect him to." 
 
 " He '11 have to," Mildred said. " I Ve made 
 up my mind about it. It's no use wasting 
 money. I '11 manage it all right." 
 
 " By Jove, you are clever, Milly. Mean to 
 put the screw on with that thousand you lent 
 him?" 
 
 " Not that entirely. You see the way he 's 
 going on, he '11 have to let it all in a hurry, he
 
 MR. MORRISON'S WRONGS 171 
 
 won't do anything till the last moment: he's 
 not clever about business like you, old pet. 
 Very well, then we shall stick to our proposal, 
 and with a little firmness he '11 give in. I can 
 manage him all right. Besides, you know how 
 they quarrel. They '11 have a break up, a sepa- 
 ration or something, suddenly one day, and 
 then it will be quite simple. Of course it's 
 dreadful to have to think of such things, but 
 one can't help seeing them." 
 
 " It 's an awful pity they don't pull together 
 better. Have some chicken?" 
 
 " It 's terribly sad yes, please it has wor- 
 ried me dreadfully more of the rice, please; 
 thanks. One thing, I Ve really done my best to 
 make things better." 
 
 "Yes, you've been tremendously good-nat- 
 ured, going there so often. I do think Nelly's 
 awfully ungrateful." 
 
 " Well, I Ve done my best," said Mildred, 
 complacently. " We must go to Rowe ; " she 
 went on. " You see, dear, it 's pretty certain 
 you '11 have it in time, and we may as well have 
 the advantage of it now. This rent won't make 
 much difference, and then, supposing they sep- 
 arated, probably old Mrs. Ashton would go to
 
 i/2 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 live with him, and he would n't care to live there. 
 So then we could take on the dower-house and 
 let it again to somebody we liked, make some 
 improvements or something, and get back the 
 rent on the big house. I Ve sketched it all out." 
 
 " By Jove, you are a splendid manager." 
 
 Mildred's rosy cheeks dimpled with a superior 
 smile of conscious merit. 
 
 " But look here," said her husband, " if they 
 separated, George might go to Rowe and live 
 cheap." 
 
 " That 's impossible," she said quickly. 
 " He 'd have to make his wife an allowance. 
 He's been spending his capital; he told me, 
 when he borrowed that money, he 'd lost thous- 
 ands betting and cards and things. And they 
 live far beyond their means. I call it dishonest, 
 quite. So we 're quite certain of Rowe, anyhow, 
 whether they separate or not, and I won't give 
 a penny more than I said ; we might even get it 
 for less. We '11 get it on a long lease, and then 
 we must be all right. I think they '11 separate ; 
 of course I shall do all I can to prevent it, but 
 I 'm afraid they will, and if they don't, and if 
 if anything happened, we could still keep Rowe; 
 he's sure to spend all the money, and if any-
 
 MR. MORRISON'S WRONGS 173 
 
 thing happened, we could buy it the entail 
 could be broken then and of course we should 
 get it cheap." 
 
 "And his father-in-law won't leave him any- 
 thing," Jack said, with a lively sense of heaven's 
 mercies. That was another merit in his wife. 
 
 " Poor dear papa," said Mildred, with very 
 decorous solemnity. 
 
 " By the way," Jack went on, " I want to 
 bring a man in to lunch to-day if you don't 
 mind get off early Saturday, you know. City 
 chap. He 's an immensely rich beggar, Mor- 
 rison 's his name, and I want him to let me 
 into a mining company he 's floating very 
 good thing indeed. I'll tell you about that 
 later. Morrison is n't a bad kind of man," Jack 
 spoke with easy tolerance, " but he 's an out- 
 sider, you know, and just the sort of man to 
 value a little attention. So you '11 be very nice 
 and that sort of thing to him, won't you ? " 
 
 " Of course I will, old boy. If he 's nice and 
 a friend of yours, of course I '11 be as charming 
 as I can to him, and I '11 order a splendid lunch." 
 
 Shortly afterwards Jack, having kissed his wife 
 affectionately, went his way to the City. Mildred 
 lingered over jam and fruit, reading the paper.
 
 1/4 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 Then she consulted for half an hour with her 
 cook, who appreciated appreciation, and went to 
 the nursery, where her boy, to whom she was a 
 fond and wise mother, welcomed her with de- 
 light, and the nurse, to whom she was a consid- 
 erate mistress, with a bright smile. It was an 
 admirable home. 
 
 In due course Mr. Morrison arrived with Jack, 
 and found a hostess vastly to his liking. She 
 listened to the tale of his possessions with enthu- 
 siasm ; she laughed merrily at his jokes ; she 
 smiled upon him archly. They must make up 
 a party to go to the play ; he must stay with them 
 in the country. Of course she had no intention 
 of being mixed up socially with Mr. Morrison, 
 who was really poor man, he could n't help 
 not being quite, quite but (thought she) it is 
 a duty of hospitality to make people happy. 
 As he held the match to her cigarette after lunch, 
 she favoured him with an upward sweep of her 
 eyelids. Mr. Morrison thought he was flirting 
 with a woman in Society, (the S was very capital 
 in his mind) and plumed himself. The lunch 
 was substantial, as he liked it, but elaborate and 
 ornate; the wine he knew to be good by its 
 brands. Mr. Morrison went away enraptured,
 
 MR. MORRISON'S WRONGS 175 
 
 and Jack Ashton, having seen him out of the 
 house, went back to his wife with a laughing 
 encomium on her social talents, and she smiled 
 in demure triumph. 
 
 Two days later Mr. Morrison called in the 
 afternoon and found Mrs. Jack alone, and was 
 welcomed with gay cordiality. " How nice of 
 you to come so soon!" He announced that he 
 had made Jack a director of the mine, and she 
 clapped her plump hands with girlish glee. 
 
 " How splendid, and how very, very kind of 
 you !" 
 
 Mr. Morrison explained that it might be in his 
 power to do other services for Jack. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Morrison, it is so very sweet of 
 you. I can't tell you how grateful I am. Jack 
 works very hard, poor boy, but you know he 's 
 not not so clever as you," her eyes brightened 
 with appreciation, " and it 's everything to him 
 to have some wiser friend to tell him what to do. 
 We can't be too grateful to you. " 
 
 " Then I hope we shall be friends," he said 
 with unctuous gallantry. 
 
 " Of course we shall true friends ; " she held 
 out her hand and when Mr. Morrison kept it in 
 his did not withdraw it. Business is business.
 
 i;6 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 you see, and folly is folly ; it was silly to mind 
 such a little thing, and really the man deserved 
 some kindness. Mr. Morrison leaned over her 
 hand with such grace as he had and kissed it. 
 She laughed, and as she drew it away put a little 
 pressure into her fingers. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Morrison, we must be sensible," 
 she said, and the man did not feel repulsed or 
 offended. He remembered another Mrs. Ash- 
 ton whose hand he had not kissed, and her of- 
 fence grew greater. He mentioned her name 
 to Mildred. 
 
 "Oh, do you know her?" Mildred sighed. 
 "Poor little thing," she added. 
 
 ** I used to see a lot of her before she mar- 
 ried. Her father I knew him very well." 
 He spoke bitterly, and Mildred was alert. 
 
 " I am afraid I don't like Major Canover," 
 she said. " I don't know anything about these 
 things, but Jack says he 's not not quite hon- 
 ourable in business matters." 
 
 " I should rather think he was n't," said Mr. 
 Morrison. 
 
 The footman brought in tea, and Mrs. Jack 
 intimated in a low voice that she was not at 
 home to anybody; Mr. Morrison hearing it, was
 
 MR. MORRISON'S WRONGS 177 
 
 charmed with the idea of intimacy. Then she 
 quickly possessed herself of his story. It was 
 not a clever story; outside his business, at 
 least, Mr. Morrison was not a clever man. 
 How indeed men, who in conversation, and 
 sometimes in the conduct of their private lives, 
 are beyond conception stupid, contrive to amass 
 money, is a mystery many poor men would like 
 to solve. It was not a clever story, but it was 
 as damaging as narrow vindictiveness could make 
 it, and Mrs. Jack's charity was not proof against 
 her confidence in people's truth-telling. It was 
 to the effect that Major Canover had used his 
 daughter Nelly to lure Mr. Morrison into un- 
 profitable transactions, and that when he would 
 part with no more money she had treated him 
 with incredible rudeness, rudeness which Mr. 
 Morrison would have thought a lady could not 
 have employed. 
 
 Mildred was deeply shocked. She kept her 
 eyes lowered as the story proceeded, and once 
 she passed her hand across them. 
 
 " I can't tell you how terribly, how horribly 
 it distresses me. One never thinks of such 
 things really happening. It sickens me," she 
 said with aggrieved innocence. "We Ash-
 
 1 78 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 tons " Mr. Morrison admired the dignity of 
 the tone " have our faults, but we are not 
 mean, not dishonest." The cadence woke an 
 echo of some stirring drama: Mr. Morrison 
 felt that life was stately. " Tell me, did any of 
 this happen after her marriage ? " 
 
 " Well, yes. Shortly after her marriage the 
 Major let me in for a good bit. I might have 
 prosecuted him, but it was n't " her remark 
 gave him a happy inspiration "but I thought 
 of your family ; " and he was rewarded with a 
 grateful look. 
 
 Mildred changed the subject, and they con- 
 versed on the iniquity of the world and the 
 beauties of true friendship. When he went he 
 kissed her hand again, and she pressed his 
 warmly, smiling with sorrowful gratitude. She 
 sat down by the tea-table again and meditated 
 for the space of three egg sandwiches. Then 
 she wrote a note to George Ashton asking him 
 to come to see her the next morning. 
 
 When he came she received him with great 
 kindness and solemnity, and spoke with reluctant 
 deliberation. 
 
 " There 's something I feel I ought to tell you, 
 George. It's very much against the grain; I've
 
 MR. MORRISON'S WRONGS 179 
 
 argued about it with myself till I felt quite 
 ill. I implore you not to make too much of 
 it, but it 's not fair not to tell you ; you ought 
 to be on your guard against anything of the 
 kind happening again. I 'd give anything not 
 to tell you, because it may cause you pain, 
 and another thing nothing could vex me 
 more than to make mischief between you and 
 Nelly." 
 
 George sighed wearily. " It 's about Nelly, 
 then?" 
 
 " Yes, and that 's why it 's so hard for me. If 
 you thought for a moment I meant to make 
 mischief, I should be very unhappy." She fal- 
 tered a little, and George quickly reassured her. 
 
 " There 's a Mr. Morrison who used to know 
 Major Canover." 
 
 4< I know ; I Ve seen the brute. What has he 
 to do with Nelly?" 
 
 " Unfortunately he has had something to do 
 with her. Oh, don't make too much of it. She 
 acted thoughtlessly, no doubt, and was influenced 
 by that old wretch, Major Canover, I beg your 
 pardon, dear George ; I can't help hating him. 
 Well, this Mr. Morrson 's a business acquaintance 
 of Jack's, and he came here to see him on busi-
 
 i8o THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 ness, and I had to give him tea. He 's a simply 
 dreadful man; it was a mistake of Jack's to let 
 him come to the house." She felt instinctively 
 George's view of Mr. Morrison, and took it for a 
 moment in good faith, I am sure. " Well, he 
 said something about Major Canover and Nelly. 
 I hated to listen, but I thought it better for you 
 to know what he had to say." And she told him 
 Mr. Morrison's story, and somehow, with all 
 her good-natured modifications and excuses, it 
 sounded worse than it had in Mr. Morrison's bald 
 malignancy. 
 
 George listened in absolute silence. 
 
 " Very well," he said at the end ; " the first 
 thing is to do one's best to make Mr. Morrison 
 sorry." 
 
 " Now listen to me, George ; I knew you would 
 say that, but listen, please." She had foreseen 
 the risk, and was armed against it. She spoke 
 eagerly. It would be such a terrible thing if the 
 affair ended in a vulgar brawl. " If you do that, 
 in the first place you drag me into it. He would 
 say I had betrayed his confidence, and probably 
 have a row with Jack; it would put me in a 
 dreadful position, and I think I don't deserve 
 that, do I? Then he's utterly beneath your
 
 MR. MORRISON'S WRONGS 181 
 
 notice. You don't want to fight a cabman who 
 insults you. He can't do any harm. He swore 
 he 'd told nobody else, and I made him promise 
 never to do so." Excitement may have confused 
 her. " Then of course you must n't believe this 
 story. I 'm afraid poor dear Nelly must have 
 been indiscreet in some way, or he would never 
 have dared to say all this, but no doubt it 's 
 exaggerated. Suppose, however, through some 
 mistake or other there is some ground for what 
 he says, you would make things a thousand times 
 worse by making him stand at bay. You see 
 that?" 
 
 " Yes ; I suppose it would make things 
 worse to kick the brute ; civilisation 's an 
 infernal thing. But you may be right." 
 
 " Promise me you won't speak to him." 
 
 " Very well ; yes, I promise." 
 
 She drew a long breath. "The only thing 
 to do is this: ask her if this Mr. Morrison 
 was friends with her; if he lent her father 
 money, and if she cut him afterwards. If it 's 
 untrue, tell me, and Jack shall make Mr. 
 Morrison sorry he spoke. If she says it 's true, 
 of course it was all innocent, and she did n't 
 understand ; but I 'm afraid you can 't complain
 
 1 82 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 of a vulgar man like Mr. Morrison putting a 
 wrong construction on it. Oh, George ! I'm 
 really so unhappy about you. I did want your 
 marriage to be happy, and everything seems 
 to go wrong. I hope you '11 forgive me if I Ve 
 ever done anything unwise ; I Ve tried my 
 best." 
 
 She was very doleful; but George was 
 abstracted, and murmuring, "Of course; I 
 know," rose to go. He turned back from 
 the door, however, and came towards her. 
 
 " Mildred, you Ve been a very good friend. 
 Forgive me if I don't seem grateful; I really 
 am, but I 'm a good deal bothered about things. 
 By the way, do you still want Rowe ? " 
 
 "Of course we do. But about the rent 
 it 's horrid there should be any question of that 
 sort between us. It doesn't seem much, but 
 we really can't afford more; we've had a good 
 many expenses, and Jack's lost money in the 
 City lately, and then Rowe costs a good deal 
 to keep up. It's either that, or we can't take 
 it. I 'm awfully sorry, but we can 't help our- 
 selves. How horrid these money questions 
 are ! " 
 
 " Oh, never mind that ; I quite see. I was
 
 MR. MORRISON'S WRONGS 183 
 
 only a Jew about it because I was hard up. I 
 should hate to have strangers there. You can 
 have it all right." 
 
 " It 's definitely settled then, at the rent I 
 fixed in my letter; beginning in September? " 
 
 " Yes, all right," 
 
 " Dear George, you know we shall care for 
 it as no strangers will. Good-bye: do you 
 really believe I 'm your friend ? " 
 
 There was a sort of melancholy archness in 
 her look. 
 
 " Indeed I do, the best of friends." 
 
 A mild emotion of sentimental gratitude is 
 a very ready resource, when one's other emo- 
 tions are not agreeable. George kissed Mildred's 
 hand as Mr. Morrison had before him. 
 
 When he was gone, Mildred had a glow of 
 angelic feeling. It had been a painful ordeal, 
 but she had gone through it bravely, and it is 
 consoling to have done one's duty, even a duty 
 of true kindness. She also felt vaguely that 
 for practical and sensible people the world is 
 good. How foolish to arrange business things 
 in that haphazard way; but the rent was fixed 
 now, and she could make terms at her leisure 
 about improvements and things, and expenses
 
 184 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 in keeping up the place ; George could not go 
 back on his word. He was really a dear fellow. 
 It is pleasant, and not wonderful, to know, that 
 after performing her distressing duty, she 
 enjoyed a reaction to great cheerfulness.
 
 THE CHANCES OF EXPLANATIONS 185 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE CHANCES OF EXPLANATIONS 
 
 WHEN George Ashton returned from Scot- 
 land, his manner towards his wife was changed. 
 A somewhat frigid politeness was turned into 
 distant kindness, an occasional querulousness 
 gave place to resignation, criticism to indifferent 
 acceptance. He spent most of his time in Half- 
 Moon Street; his whole attitude was more 
 friendly. 
 
 But Nelly felt that a stronger barrier than 
 before was between them. She was surely 
 right : the barrier of vague disappointment and 
 irritation by trivial things, a barrier which less 
 sensitive or stronger men surmount with little 
 effort, is a smaller thing than the barrier of 
 passion, to all men impassable. He looked at 
 his wife and he thought of Madeleine Adair. 
 He saw his wife's romantic beauty, and felt no 
 longer that something was wanting to give it life
 
 1 86 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 and a real meaning for him ; he felt that another's 
 face shone before it so that it faded to nothing- 
 ness. Therefore he was evenly kind and kindly 
 indifferent. He made no approaches to her; 
 the distant relation remained unchanged, of 
 course. But he found no fault ; there was even 
 something of atonement in his bearing. Nelly 
 was puzzled at first, and then she was conscious 
 that she and he were a thousand miles apart. 
 
 Her feeling was like that which comes to us 
 before a thunderstorm, one of depression and 
 presentiment. Discontent and irritation fell 
 back, as it were, before a larger, more pervading 
 consciousness; she stood face to face with 
 confessed failure, and knew that a consequence, 
 uncertain yet vital, was on its inevitable way. 
 Women see the concrete form of such things 
 more quickly than men, and the idea of separa- 
 tion, though not yet as a certainty, came to the 
 wife first. She did not pity herself. She had 
 been angry, because she fancied that unseen 
 forces she could not face were warring against 
 her, that she could not put fair and straight 
 before her a vague hostility. But now she 
 swept them away in her mind, and told herself 
 that George Ashton and she could never have
 
 THE CHANCES OF EXPLANATIONS 187 
 
 been happy together for long. " It was an utter 
 mistake." She saw that she had not loved her 
 husband with the love that was in her, a love 
 which could have melted and transformed dis- 
 taste. She did not blame him; no doubt he 
 had cheated himself. The initial fact that she 
 had married a man whose delicacy was greater 
 than his manfulness she counted against him 
 unconsciously, if at all. She still admired him 
 in a way, still thought he belonged to a higher 
 type than the most of the men she knew. Only 
 he had not understood her; he had exaggerated 
 little things; he had expected great intuition of 
 her, and had shown little of it himself. He had 
 brushed aside her feeling about Mildred Ashton 
 as any common husband might have done, and 
 yet he had required of her to sympathise at once 
 with all his moods and tones. Still, he had 
 never been quite callous or brutal with her, 
 and now he was considerate, like a well-bred 
 host to an unwelcome but invited guest ah ! 
 This life was a very heavy burden to bear; it 
 must come to an end. He oppressed her, and 
 obviously she was something in his way. Well, 
 she had done her best. This is a point of 
 reflection where most of us, men or women, melt
 
 1 88 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 into self-pity; I think it makes my claim for 
 Nelly's spirit good that she did not pity herself. 
 She and her husband had made a bargain to- 
 gether; she had done her share as well as she 
 could, and perhaps he also had tried his best; 
 but the bargain was bad to both of them. Her 
 natural spirit led her to think it was well to 
 cancel it ; the present was a false and very irk- 
 some position. But if he wished it to continue, 
 it was her part to acquiesce and make the best 
 of things. After all, what was the alternative? 
 She thought more kindly than she had, but 
 wearily still, of Kate and Major Canover and 
 the old life. 
 
 The people who came to see her in these few 
 days thought she had a headache. They were 
 used to fitful gaiety in her and sometimes wild 
 sayings, and now she was serious and very mildly 
 mirthful. The men who imagined they were 
 flirting with her had misgivings. She had barely 
 seen Charlie Skeffington since the autumn ; the 
 sense of shame which the passage between them 
 had brought insensibly to her had taken the form 
 of irritation and pointed indifference, while he, 
 when his irritation was over, felt a sort of inse- 
 cure self-reproach he wavered, that is, between
 
 THE CHANCES OF EXPLANATIONS 189 
 
 the thought that his superior common sense had 
 been harsh, and the thought that he had not risen 
 to the occasion. But a little time after her hus- 
 band's return she met Charlie Skeffington in the 
 street, and stopped to speak to him. 
 
 "Well, Charlie, still going to the dogs?" 
 
 " Yes ; still the same old journey. It 's taking 
 rather longer than I expected. You all right? " 
 
 " Quite, thanks. Poor Charlie, the world 's 
 very unkind, is n't it? " 
 
 " Everything 's beastly," was the dark reply. 
 
 Nelly laughed lightly as she nodded and moved 
 on: "Good-bye; try and be good." 
 
 George Ashton was conscious, two days after 
 his return, of a difference in his wife. It suited 
 his melancholy mood. If the world must be at 
 cross purposes, and they two must live together, 
 it was well they should do so gravely and deco- 
 rously. He thought little of his wife now, but he 
 noticed there was less about her to irritate and 
 distract him, and in a way he was grateful. The 
 love for Madeleine Adair gave him a graver and 
 a deeper melancholy. He brooded constantly* 
 and was as unhappy as poor man can be, but in 
 a way it braced him. Two things were clear : he 
 must not see her again, or not for a long time,
 
 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 and he must order his ways decently in his rela- 
 tions with the rest of the world. He also saw 
 that the bargain of his marriage was bad, and he 
 also determined that he would go through with 
 it, and act fairly towards his wife. The distance 
 between them he could not break through now, 
 even if she desired it. That was too much, im- 
 possible. By-and-bye, as time went on, that 
 might be remedied. Meanwhile he would try to 
 understand, or at least, while it was impossible 
 for him to think of anything but one thing, he 
 must study to be kind. 
 
 Nelly, of course, speculated vaguely in her 
 mind on the possibility of something having 
 happened in Scotland to cause the change in her 
 husband. She was conscious that something 
 more than had been was between them, and the 
 idea of another woman came to her inevitably, 
 as to a woman. But she dismissed the idea of 
 Scotland: her thoughts turned to Lady Tre- 
 mayne. She remembered Mildred's suggestion, 
 but she did not believe there was an actual pas- 
 sion of love between them. Probably they had 
 sentimentalised together ugh ! it was con- 
 temptible to her and Lady Tremayne had 
 sorrowfully impressed on him his duty to his
 
 THE CHANCES OF EXPLANATIONS 191 
 
 wife. She hated Lady Tremayne. The natures, 
 the attitudes to life, of the two women were anti- 
 pathetic. Nelly thought that Lady Tremayne 
 probably regarded her from a serene height, and 
 pitied her, and pitied George, and talked to him 
 sympathetically, and was so clever, so insidious. 
 . . . Mildred Ashton became unimportant by 
 comparison ; and when she came to Half Moon 
 Street on the day of Mr. Morrison's entertain- 
 ment at lunch, Nelly, albeit cold as ever, was 
 more equable, less nervous in her manner towards 
 her. Mildred noticed this, and noticed also 
 George's greater kindness and consideration for 
 his wife, and when she went away murmured 
 softly to Nelly, " I 'm so glad." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " About many things, dear ; " she smiled kindly 
 patronage and gave no time for another question. 
 Her face was thoughtful 'as she went down the 
 stairs. 
 
 Then came Mr. Morrison's disclosure and the 
 sad necessity of telling it to Geofge. As he 
 walked back to his house after the interview he 
 was utterly miserable at first, and then intensely 
 angry. He had been doing his best I fear he 
 pitied himself to be kind to his wife ; her ex-
 
 192 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 istence wrecked his life, or prevented its salva- 
 tion, but she was not responsible for that, and 
 he had tried with all his might to be just. And 
 now came this business. Things were really im- 
 possible. It was all so vulgar, so sordid. It was 
 worse : in his view, for a woman to get money 
 from a man by means of her beauty and graces, 
 within commonly innocent bounds, was very 
 nearly as bad as if the bounds were not com- 
 monly innocent. That greasy ruffian must have 
 had something to go upon ; he could not have 
 invented the whole thing. And for his wife 
 it was damnation ! The Ashtons had been hon- 
 ourable people for centuries ; the fact had always 
 given him a superiority surely not ridiculous 
 over those more highly placed who used their 
 position sordidly. His wife had done this for 
 her rogue of a father, certainly ; that hardly mat- 
 tered. She knew he would have given the scamp 
 twice the money, ten times the money, if the 
 other had been the alternative. That was the 
 sort of environment he had made for himself; 
 he might have made of that he would not 
 think. 
 
 He found Major Canover come to lunch, who 
 greeted him cheerily.
 
 THE CHANCES OF EXPLANATIONS 193 
 
 " Glad to see you, my boy. How well you 're 
 looking ! Scotland 's done marvels for you." 
 
 George sat almost in silence during lunch, 
 and when the butler had finally left the room, 
 turned abruptly to his father-in-law. 
 
 "You know a man called Morrison? " 
 
 " Morrison Morrison? Of course, yes. 
 Haven't seen him for some time, though. 
 Vulgar fellow. Those fellows, you know, are 
 all very well for a time; then they show the 
 cloven hoof. Morrison was like that: got all 
 he could in a social way, you know out 
 of me, and then turned round." 
 
 " I see. The social advantages included the 
 society of my wife?" 
 
 "Eh what? My good fellow, I don't 
 understand you." 
 
 " I ask you if it is a fact that you had commer- 
 cial dealings with this Morrison, and that while 
 they were in course of transaction my wife met 
 him I remember you being good enough to 
 take her to dinner with him was friendly with 
 him, in fact, and that when he turned round, 
 as you say, she cut him, as she should have 
 done the second time she met him?" 
 
 " Good God, George, what a ridiculous fuss 
 '3
 
 194 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 about nothing ! Upon my soul, I never heard 
 anything like it in my life. Upon my soul, 
 never! What do you mean, sir, by such a 
 tone?" 
 
 " Do you owe this fellow money, and did he 
 refuse to lend you more ? " 
 
 " I decline to answer impertinent questions. 
 And I decline to allow myself to be insulted 
 at your table." The Major's dignity was secure 
 for a moment and it had no longer strain. 
 
 " You can obviate that for the future," George 
 said ; " at present I '11 obviate it myself," and he 
 rose and walked out of the room. 
 
 The Major turned a boiling face to his 
 daughter. 
 
 " This husband of yours is simply the most 
 cantankerous brute I Ve ever met. Mean brute 
 too, or I wouldn't by Jove he'd make a 
 saint mad." 
 
 " It's no use abusing him, father." 
 
 "Then what did he mean by his infernal 
 questions? What's he got to do with Morri- 
 son? Damn Morrison. What 's Morrison got to 
 do with you ? " 
 
 " I suppose some kind friend has told George 
 some idiotic story. But for him to speak like
 
 THE CHANCES OF EXPLANATIONS 195 
 
 that it's the last straw." She dashed away 
 the tears from her eyes. " Morrison must have 
 talked about me. That's your fault, father, 
 if you Ve borrowed money from him and not 
 paid. Yes, it is, but it 's no use talking about 
 that. If George understands me so little, we 'd 
 better separate." 
 
 " H'm," said the Major. " He '11 have to 
 make you an allowance, besides the settlements. 
 I suppose you 'd come back and live with us. 
 Well, well ; it might be best if he goes on like 
 this." 
 
 And after a few fatherly consolations Major 
 Canover took his leave, banging the hall door 
 with a final bang. 
 
 George came back to the dining-room, and 
 Nelly sat up very straightly and looked at him 
 indifferently. 
 
 " You were friends with this Morrison?" 
 
 " You know I was : in a way, yes." 
 
 " Did you know your father was borrowing 
 money from him? " 
 
 Of course Nelly had known that some such 
 connection would necessarily subsist between 
 Mr. Morrison and Major Canover for them to 
 be friends. She had hardly thought definitely
 
 196 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 of it when she was asked to dine with him ; for 
 years she had been accustomed to meet Major 
 Canover's lending friends. To have quarrelled 
 with Mr. Morrison for not lending money to 
 the Major, or being unpleasant about money 
 lent, was a meanness of which she could not 
 have thought. Nor would she have made her- 
 self amiable to a man she fairly disliked for any 
 sordid reason. She was easily pleased, and had 
 rather liked Mr. Morrison ; and, when he had 
 assumed on his money to try to force an inti- 
 macy, had dismissed him without hesitation. 
 All this is certain. But it is also certain that 
 her husband's question could only be answered 
 honestly in the affirmative, and her spirit rose, 
 and she said : 
 
 " I dare say he was. I utterly refuse to 
 be catechised about it. I have nothing to do 
 with it" 
 
 So she did not tell her husband why she had 
 cut Mr. Morrison. 
 
 A thought struck her, and she asked : 
 
 "Did Mildred tell you this story? No, I 
 don't want to hear ; of course you 'd defend 
 her. You remember they dine here to-morrow 
 with the Tremaynes and the Careys ? No ; I
 
 THE CHANCES OF EXPLANATIONS 197 
 
 won't put it off. It's only one more an- 
 noyance." 
 
 George hardly listened. He had turned away 
 in disgust and left his wife to her tears. In the 
 hall he was met by a note. It was from Lady 
 Tremayne. 
 
 " Madeleine Adair came yesterday to stay with me. 
 She wants to see you very much and at once, and I 
 think you had better come. Maurice will be all the 
 evening at the House, and we shall be alone. Come 
 about half-past nine if you possibly can. C. T."
 
 198 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AN END OF FOLLY 
 
 WHEN George Ashton was gone, a blight 
 seemed to fall upon the frankness and the gai- 
 ety of Glenburn. Madeleine talked at meals and 
 was sometimes almost boisterously bright. But 
 when the others talked apart she was listless; 
 she shut herself in her room for most of the 
 day; she was pale and excused herself from 
 singing, to which indeed she was never pressed. 
 Tommy Tucker was melancholy ; he talked less 
 cheerily though more cleverly than before ; in a 
 few days he went away. Mrs. Adair was troub- 
 led, anxious, more maternal. But the lowest 
 depths of visible dejection were reached by Bob 
 Adair. He had fits of silence and watched his 
 sister when she looked away from him. He 
 cursed English habits and swore at his valet, 
 after the manner of simple man in distress.
 
 AN END OF FOLLY 199 
 
 Sometimes Madeleine looked at Fanny when 
 they were alone and seemed to hesitate ; but she 
 never talked to Fanny of what ailed her. She 
 was fond of her brother's wife, and in better times 
 had been merry and seemed to be intimate with 
 her; she did not recognise in her that certainty 
 of response which may bring complete confi- 
 dence in such a sorrow as hers. Perhaps she 
 felt that Mrs. Adair would have been more reti- 
 cent than she herself was disposed by nature to 
 be ; an idea of race may have influenced her : 
 in any case she did not speak. If she had had 
 any doubt of George Ashton's love for her, the 
 wish to speak would, I suppose, not have existed 
 at all. But she accepted the idea of his love 
 frankly, and longed, on impulse, to tell her mind. 
 Once she whispered to her brother as she kissed 
 him ; " Oh, Bob, Bob, I 'm so unhappy," and he 
 hugged her: " Darling Maddo, I would give all 
 my life to get what you want," and he was 
 French enough to let his eyes be wet. Then 
 suddenly she drew herself up and put her hands 
 on his shoulders and looked into his face. 
 " Bob, I must see him once and say something 
 to him and then never see him again. I shall 
 go to London for a day or two."
 
 200 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 Bob's eyes dropped and he thought. Then 
 he looked at her again. 
 
 " Maddo,you know I only want your happiness. 
 I would care nothing what the world said in a 
 different case. If you wanted to marry somebody 
 somebody not your equal socially, say, and if 
 he were a good fellow, I would n't say a word. 
 But this is different, utterly. You want to see 
 him " 
 
 " I must speak to him, Bob, it is justice to 
 
 me, and justice to him. Only once." 
 
 - " I see I know what you feel ; you may be 
 
 right. But will you promise me you'll never 
 
 see him again, never try to see him, that is? " 
 
 " On my honour." 
 
 " Shall I ask him down here for a day ? " 
 
 " It had better be in London. I shall go to 
 Lady Tremayne for a day or two. She 's a friend 
 of his ; she can arrange for us to meet." 
 
 " Will you tell her? " 
 
 " I don't know, I don't know. I shall see ; I 
 may. Don't ask me about that. But I shall go 
 to her. Will you tell Fan, Bob? Oh, Bob, 
 your poor Maddo 's very unhappy, but she 's 
 going to be good and not worry everybody 
 else."
 
 AN END OF FOLLY 201 
 
 She smiled wearily on him and he went to 
 find his wife. As he went he reflected. It is 
 not in human nature to feel sorrow for another 
 and not to stretch at hope : Bob Adair reflected 
 
 and her last words helped him that every- 
 thing changes in this world, even the first real 
 love of a girl. Then he smiled, as being near to 
 a paradox. Poor darling Maddo ! But every- 
 thing changes. He spoke reticently to his wife, 
 for he too felt that she might not wholly under- 
 stand his sister, would not feel, as he felt, that 
 her longing for one plain speech was right and 
 true to herself. But he could not ignore her 
 knowledge entirely. 
 
 " Do you think she is wise to go, Bob? " 
 
 " Wise? Well, yes, if there can be wisdom in 
 it at all. Better shake hands with him again 
 and say good-bye definitely. Vagueness frets 
 one in these things. Yes, I think she is wise." 
 
 " Bob, you know I like your friend, and I 
 don't blame him now. But are you quite sure, 
 quite sure you can speak for him as you can for 
 yourself." 
 
 Bob shot a curious glance at his wife. 
 Women the thought darted through his brain 
 
 are strangely possessive ; he adored his wife,
 
 202 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 yes, yes; but she did not know what Maddo 
 meant to him. That he could be careless of 
 her! 
 
 " That hardly needs an answer, dearest. If I 
 did not know George to be an absolutely honour- 
 able man, do you suppose I would let her speak 
 to him again, now I know what I know? If I 
 thought for one moment he had made love to 
 her, tried to make her love him, do you know 
 what I would do?" He dropped his hand to 
 his side, a little final gesture. " We won't think 
 any more of that, please. But all the honour in 
 the world won't prevent two people caring for 
 one another, from being blind. Blind, yes, and 
 we too. It was we who were fools, Fan; we 
 should have seen, and I shall never forgive 
 myself. But everything passes, you know, 
 everything ; and Maddo will be happy again one 
 day. As to her seeing George once more, that 
 is best for both of them. Your stage brothers 
 bah ! your ranting melodramatic brothers 
 would sacrifice that to a sense of propriety, I 
 suppose. I value Maddo's wish more than that. 
 But I would n't allow it, dear, if I did n't know 
 that George Ashton is delicate and honourable 
 in every point, and if I did n't trust Maddo as I
 
 AN END OF FOLLY 203 
 
 would trust the Mother of God." He turned 
 away abruptly and left the room. 
 
 There are other emotions than love that play 
 tricks with our heads. Bob Adair, who had 
 been bred a Catholic, had long smiled indiffer- 
 ently at Christianity; yet he had spoken in 
 absolute sincerity, being moved to passion by 
 any semblance of doubt of his sister. Mrs. 
 Adair sat and wondered awhile, dimly compre- 
 hending that there was more in her husband 
 than a sweet temper and a frivolous manner. 
 She was very gentle to him and to Madeleine 
 when they met later, with almost an appeal in 
 her eyes. They were very silent, and Madeleine 
 hung, for a moment, on Fanny's neck when she 
 went to bed. 
 
 Two days later, Madeleine went to London. 
 Lady Tremayne supposed the girl was bored 
 in Scotland, and wished to shop and go to 
 theatres, and was surprised and interested by 
 her quietude and gravity when they met. She 
 arrived in the late afternoon, and talked alone 
 with Lady Tremayne gravely and intimately 
 about her father and her brother's marriage 
 and the life in Scotland. She was asked about 
 George Ashton's visit ; and " I like him very
 
 204 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 much indeed," was all she said, and she changed 
 the subject shortly. Lady Tremayne wondered 
 a little, and dismissed the wonder. Length of 
 acquaintance had given an intimacy of Chris- 
 tian names; intimacy of affection had been 
 mostly on impulsive Madeleine's side ; but 
 Clara Tremayne, who was in tune for affection, 
 grew rapidly, as they talked, to feel that the 
 girl, whose mother she remembered with 
 admiration and whose father with real esteem, 
 had always been dear to her, and was one to 
 love. 
 
 At dinner Madeleine brightened and amused 
 Sir Maurice with quaint, clever questions on 
 politics, with stories of her neighbours in 
 Scotland, and stories of Bob Adair. She sang 
 him a song or two after dinner, to his delight, 
 in a voice in which Lady Tremayne detected 
 an under-note of weariness or sadness. 
 
 When Sir Maurice went to the House, Made- 
 leine's manner changed again. She talked 
 pensively, and wanted to go to bed early. 
 Passing by her door soon afterwards, Lady 
 Tremayne heard a sob, and knocked softly and 
 was bidden, by a stifled voice, to enter . . . 
 
 " Dear Clara/ you are very good to me.
 
 AN END OF FOLLY 205 
 
 Yes ; I '11 tell you. It 's a stupid old story. 
 Lots of people have been as unhappy before, 
 perhaps. But I'm as unhappy as I know how 
 to be. I care for somebody whom I must only 
 see once more in my life." 
 
 Lady Tremayne stroked the hair of the girl as 
 she knelt. " My poor darling girl. Can't I 
 help ? I would do anything. May I know who 
 it is? I don't want to, but I might be able to 
 help." As she spoke a presentiment came upon 
 her. 
 
 " I meant to tell you, Clara ... I would n't 
 speak of him when we talked before din- 
 ner ... " 
 
 A sigh which was not interpreted escaped 
 Lady Tremayne, and that was all. What had 
 been her feeling towards George Ashton? She 
 told herself now that it had been affectionate, 
 pitying, tender, not of passion at all. But she 
 felt for a moment very lonely. She did not 
 accuse him; he had not been bound to her; it 
 was all very natural. Here was a beautiful, 
 bright girl she stroked Madeleine's hair again. 
 Remember she had been schooled to sorrow, the 
 mild grey sorrow that is absence of joy, had met 
 with little response. George Ashton had been
 
 206 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 in love with his wife, and she had not, she 
 thought, cared very deeply. Why should she 
 care now? These two poor things needed pity. 
 She did not believe that George Ashton had 
 acted otherwise than blindly. It was all a pitiful 
 accident. She had been his friend for years, and 
 would be his friend now. What did she matter? 
 Madeleine looked up after a silence and saw her 
 friend was crying softly, and took the tears to 
 herself. Clara Tremayne gave her the comfort 
 that women use. 
 
 George Ashton came at half-past nine the 
 next evening with a set, unsmiling face, and 
 walked quickly into the drawing-room to find 
 Sir Maurice Tremayne standing before the fire- 
 place and explaining a Government Bill. He 
 had been told at the last moment that he need 
 not go to the House till half-past eleven. He 
 wondered a little why George Ashton should 
 have come more than anyone else, but accepted 
 the situation and plied him with questions about 
 his wife's health, his mother's health, and the 
 health of that charming cousin of his, Mrs. Jack 
 Ashton. So for two hours three poor people 
 sat grimacing politely while the suave old gentle-
 
 AN END OF FOLLY 207 
 
 man prosed. George stayed him out without 
 excuse, and when he was gone Lady Tremayne 
 left the room without a word, and Madeleine 
 Adair told George Ashton what he knew, and 
 said good-bye to him for ever. 
 
 " I know you care for me. I wanted to hear 
 you say so, and to tell you I care for you, so 
 that we may have something to remember. You 
 know, we must not talk together again." 
 
 So much of the speech of the girl may be told 
 a generation whose sentiment is mostly for other 
 things. Who knows what this man and this wo- 
 man, so placed, must have said to one another? 
 Who, knowing, would care to tell it to the world ? 
 I cannot say if our mothers would have approved 
 such speech from a girl to a man who was mar- 
 ried : likely not, indeed. But I think the ethical 
 import of it has been explained sufficiently by 
 Bob Adair. 
 
 Lady Tremayne, sitting hopelessly in the next 
 room, heard, without remembering she was hear- 
 ing, voices talking earnestly, once and again 
 impetuously. She heard weeping and the door 
 open, and she went out on to the staircase. She 
 followed George Ashton into the hall. 
 
 " God bless you, George, and make you strong.
 
 208 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 George, remember, it is not the fault of your 
 wife." 
 
 " No, I remember. You have been my best 
 friend. Good night." 
 
 He hardly looked at her, and walked quickly 
 away from the house. As he left it, it chanced 
 that Mr. and Mrs. Jack Ashton, returning from 
 supper, it being about one o'clock, passed by in 
 a cab and saw him. Their passing reminds me 
 that sentiment may run riot.
 
 MENDING A MISTAKE 209 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MENDING A MISTAKE. 
 
 ABOUT ten the next morning, George Ashton 
 received a note from Lady Tremayne. " She 
 has gone back to Scotland ; braver than I could 
 have hoped. Do you be brave too. Your friend, 
 C. T." I will do him justice; his first feeling 
 on reading it was one of shame, that he or his 
 sorrow should be mentioned. What was he in 
 comparison with Madeleine Adair, fool and 
 brute that he was? But such an emotion, the 
 result perhaps of an artificial attitude, passes 
 quickly when a man's feelings are truly troubled, 
 and George Ashton settled into hopeless misery. 
 One idea, a dumb final negation, obsessed his 
 brain altogether, and the hours passed by like 
 years, but without count He could not even 
 go out to his club, why does London lead 
 always to bathos ? but sat in his den effort- 
 less. He noticed that his wife did not come to 
 14
 
 210 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 lunch, and was glad to need no excuse not to 
 eat. He did not even drink that day, but later, 
 having slept not at all the night before, fell 
 asleep and dreamed of the first night at Glen- 
 burn and the merry dinner. 
 
 Nelly also had not slept and lay most of the 
 day in sheer physical incapacity, with her head 
 crushing in upon itself. She went to Victoria 
 Road in the afternoon, and finding several peo- 
 ple there, talked rather wildly, inviting Kate, 
 who was inclined to snub her, to corroborate 
 absurd anecdotes of their childhood. "You're 
 going out too much," said Kate, when they 
 parted ; " you look quite ill. Father 's in a 
 dreadful state," she added in a lower voice, and 
 Nelly answered that that was all right now ; it 
 was all over. 
 
 Frank Carey and his wife, most charitable of 
 people, were forced to admit afterwards that 
 never was there a duller little dinner-party than 
 that at Half Moon Street that evening. Mrs. 
 Carey, a little witch-like woman, with a very 
 sweet manner and an infinite store of apprecia- 
 tion and ready response, had been accustomed 
 to count George Ashton of her most interesting 
 friends ; to-night he smiled fatuously when she
 
 MENDING A MISTAKE 211 
 
 spoke and made remarks she remembered he 
 had made at other times. There seemed to be 
 an understanding between him and Lady Tre- 
 mayne, on his other side, not to talk at all. 
 
 Neither Frank Carey, a man who liked an 
 argument, nor Sir Maurice Tremayne, who liked 
 to give information, could make anything con- 
 versationally of Nelly ; she had a lightness that 
 was patently artificial ; her eyes wandered con- 
 tinually to Mildred Ashton or Lady Tremayne, 
 and turned away abruptly but with the thread 
 of talk only nominally sustained. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Digby Fleetwood, the fifth pair of diners, 
 were people who looked conversational but 
 talked very little ; a brilliant table did not suffer" 
 by their presence ; a dull one was not lightened. 
 Jack Ashton was prepared to work for his din- 
 ner by a reasonable amount of lip service, but 
 he was afraid of Mrs. Carey, who indeed re- 
 garded him as a man-ox, and Mrs. Fleetwood 
 and he economised topics very carefully. Mil- 
 dred, as always, was very much at her ease, and 
 ate, as was her custom, a very substantial din- 
 ner ; but even she seemed a trifle preoccupied. 
 She listened placidly, with an occasional pleas- 
 ant smile of intelligence, to Sir Maurice, who
 
 212 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 turned to her from Nelly ; Mr. Fleetwood 
 and Lady Tremayne imitated Jack Ashton's 
 economy. Certainly it was a very dull dinner. 
 
 Mildred waited for Nelly outside the door, and 
 taking her arm affectionately walked very slowly 
 up stairs, so that they were somewhat behind 
 the others. 
 
 " Is n't dear Lady Tremayne looking sweet? " 
 she said. " She had an at-home or something 
 last night, didn't she?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Nelly. By this time the 
 others were inside the drawing-room and Mil- 
 dred and she half up the stairs. 
 
 " Why, I saw you coming away about one," 
 said Mildred. " Jack and I were going by in a 
 hansom. At least George was coming out, 
 just inside the door, and there was somebody 
 behind him I thought must be you." 
 
 " I was n't there." 
 
 "Weren't you? what a stupid mistake of 
 mine. I suppose it was n't George then ; I did n't 
 see very well." 
 
 And Mildred no doubt dismissed the trivial 
 matter from her mind. But on Nelly the casual 
 information had an exaggerated effect. All the 
 day she had brooded, so far as her headache
 
 MENDING A MISTAKE 213 
 
 allowed, on her whole relation with her husband, 
 on what he had said about Mr. Morrison, and 
 above all on his manner of saying it. She had 
 been maddened to think that while she was trying, 
 trying with all her might, to do her share of the 
 bargain and not to irritate or annoy him, he 
 should come carelessly with a vulgar insinua- 
 tion. She said to herself that she was wretched, 
 and she thought longingly of her childhood and 
 so had gone to Victoria Road. The thought of 
 Lady Tremayne also was continuously present 
 with her ; her husband's silly sentiment for this 
 woman had made him utterly indifferent to her 
 own feelings. She had eaten almost nothing, 
 and worried herself incessantly all day long. 
 And now she learned that while she had been 
 tossing in her bed and crying, he had been phi- 
 landering with Lady Tremayne; that he, of 
 course, who could bring a stupid accusation 
 against his wife, was so superior to vulgar inter- 
 pretations that he could stay alone with Lady 
 Tremayne till one. She remembered that Sir 
 Maurice had complained at dinner of the twelve 
 o'clock rule having been suspended the night 
 before and of his having been kept at the house 
 till three. Of course George had been talking
 
 214 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 sentiment, probably receiving sympathy about 
 his wife. 
 
 She talked at random to Mrs. Carey and Mrs. 
 Fleetwood, and after a time rose suddenly and 
 went to where Lady Tremayne was sitting 
 alone, Mildred having risen to put down her 
 coffee cup. 
 
 " Was George with you last night? " She 
 asked abruptly. 
 
 Lady Tremayne was annoyed ; her mind flew 
 to Madeleine Adair, but she acquitted Nelly of 
 significance. 
 
 " Yes ; he came in after dinner." 
 
 " I only ask because I've seen very little of 
 him of late, and I want to know how you think 
 he is. You had a good opportunity of judging, 
 as he stayed till one." 
 
 Nelly hardly knew what she was saying: her 
 head was in agony and an expression of blind 
 resentment was a necessary physical relief. She 
 had not meant to speak so plainly. But Lady 
 Tremayne naturally thought it was vulgar jeal- 
 ousy, very vulgarly expressed. 
 
 " I don't think he's very well," she said frigidly, 
 and turned with a remark to Mildred, who was 
 now standing before them with a pleasant social
 
 MENDING A MISTAKE 215 
 
 smile. Like three other foolish people, Lady 
 Tremayne had been sleepless and without food. 
 Her nerves were over-strained ; she had begun 
 to think she had done more for George Ashton 
 than woman should be asked to do. And now 
 to be involved in a vulgar recrimination with 
 that jealous girl was the last straw. She sat in 
 silence for a little time, but very soon after the 
 men arrived rose and pleaded a sudden head- 
 ache and ill health and went away with Sir 
 Maurice, who in fact was extremely glad to go. 
 
 When George returned from the door, Mrs. 
 Jack with a nod beckoned him to where she had 
 moved apart from the others, and they sat down 
 side by side. 
 
 " Oh, George," she said in a low voice, " I'm 
 in such trouble. I could cry with vexation. 
 I've made mischief; I don't think anybody 
 could have foreseen it, but I'm miserable about 
 it." 
 
 He leaned wearily back in his chair beside 
 her. " I don't suppose it will make any differ- 
 ence," he said; " I'm sure you didn't mean to. 
 Don't bother to talk about it" 
 
 " But I must, George, it might put it right. 
 You know Jack and I were going past Lowndes
 
 216 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 Street last night and saw you come out." He 
 sat up and leaned back again. " Yes, that is, I 
 saw you, and thought it was Nelly standing be- 
 hind you, just inside. Of course I 'm not idiot 
 enough to think there 's any reason in the world 
 why you should not have been there she 's 
 such a sweet woman, Lady Tremayne. But I 
 mentioned it casually to Nelly and she seemed 
 to mind. I can't tell you how vexed I am ; it 
 was simply a mistake : oh, George, I 'm so 
 frightfully sorry." 
 
 "But what in heaven's name is the objection? 
 There was no reason you should not have men- 
 tioned it even if you had n't thought Nelly was 
 there. I don't understand." 
 
 " Of course, George, of course : it 's so absurd. 
 But Nelly I think she must be ill or some- 
 thing made a complaint to Lady Tremayne, 
 and I'm afraid that's why she went away." 
 
 She stopped suddenly and looked anxiously 
 at him. His pale face flushed and grew paler, 
 and his eyes looked hard, and he set his mouth. 
 
 "Very well; I see. It wasn't your fault; 
 you were quite right to tell me." 
 
 " I thought I 'd better. I am so sorry." 
 
 " You were perfectly right. I 'm grateful to 
 you for telling me."
 
 MENDING A MISTAKE 217 
 
 She looked at him with affectionate concern. 
 His brain was at a dead-lock of anger ; the emo- 
 tions of the day centred in that. That his last 
 meeting with Madeleine should be vulgarised 
 in such a way, that Clara Tremayne, who had 
 stood such a true and delicate friend to him, 
 should be met with this vulgar annoyance, that 
 the sacredness, as he thought it, of his love 
 should be so invaded, maddened him. George 
 Ashton could have struck his wife then, and I 
 suppose there are cynics who would say that if 
 they had been alone, and he had done so, the 
 upshot of things might have been better. 
 
 When the Careys and the Fleetwoods went, 
 Jack Ashton looked at his wife with a yawn 
 in his eyes, but she sat down again placidly. 
 George spoke to Nelly from the door: " I wish 
 to speak to you for a moment." She went list- 
 lessly towards him. Jack looked at his wife 
 again to no purpose. 
 
 " You said something insulting to Lady Tre- 
 mayne?" George spoke in a half whisper. 
 
 " I remarked on your being there. If there 
 was no harm in that, there was no harm in my 
 mentioning it, I suppose." 
 
 " You insulted her and drove her out of my
 
 218 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 house. She is my best friend; she has done 
 more for me than a million people like you 
 could do for anyone. That is the end, Nelly. 
 I Ve done my best, but this is too much. We 
 must separate." 
 
 Nelly raised her voice. " Thank God, at last ! 
 I take you at your word, George." She turned 
 to the others. "You may as well hear; it will 
 make it irrevocable. George has offered me a 
 separation, and I have accepted it." 
 
 Jack looked forlornly at the door. But Mil- 
 dred spoke with quiet decision. 
 
 " George, will you go with Jack to your den? 
 I have something to say to Nelly." 
 
 " I wish to hear nothing on this topic," Nelly 
 said. 
 
 " You can hardly refuse to hear me. I won't 
 keep you long." 
 
 George and Jack went downstairs to the smok- 
 ing-den. Jack cleared his throat and spoke. 
 
 " I say, old chap, you know, F m beastly 
 sorry " 
 
 " You need n't talk about it. It 's no use, and 
 I 'm sure you have n't the remotest idea what to 
 say. We '11 play a hand at picquet." 
 
 " Oh, I say, you know, would n't it be, would n't 
 it look "
 
 MENDING A MISTAKE 219 
 
 " Nonsense. There '11 be time for a deal." 
 
 And so the two men, Jack very much relieved, 
 sat down to picquet. 
 
 In the drawing-room Nelly and Mrs. Jack stood 
 near the door. 
 
 " What is it you want to say? " 
 
 " Nelly, you 're ill to-night, hysterical. You 
 could n't have meant " 
 
 " It 's useless to talk about that." 
 
 "Don't be a silly child; it's ridiculous " 
 
 " I decline to let you talk to me in that way. 
 I shall go to bed." 
 
 She moved towards the door, but Mildred 
 caught hold of her wrist, and Nelly, feeling a 
 strength twice her own in the grasp, stood still. 
 . They looked at one another, both fair to see in 
 their ways, the one romantic, fevered, contempt- 
 uous, the other sleek, healthy, determined; 
 waywardness and despair, common sense and 
 prosperity. 
 
 Nelly moved away from the door, and Mildred 
 let go her wrist. 
 
 " Now, listen to me. I don't want to interfere. 
 I speak for the best. You are ill to-night, and 
 if you do anything rash you '11 repent it to-mor- 
 row. Better make it up now : to-morrow you '11
 
 220 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 both feel foolish when you repent. I don't want 
 to meddle, but I Ve done my best always to make 
 peace, and I must do my best now." 
 
 Nelly turned round and flashed upon her. 
 
 " I '11 tell you once for all what I think. You Ve 
 been my enemy all along ; you Ve done every- 
 thing you could to make mischief. You 're clever 
 enough to do it in a way I could n't meet, but 
 don't suppose I did n't see. I used to hate you, 
 but now it 's all over, I simply think you 're con- 
 temptible. But don't imagine you Ve had any 
 influence, it would have happened without you 
 just the same. But now you Ve got what you 
 want, and we need n't meet again." 
 
 Mildred flushed and half clenched her hand. 
 " How dare you? " she said, but recovered her- 
 self at once. " But I don't care for a vulgar 
 quarrel. I shall forget what you said; you 
 could n't have meant it; it 's too insane. As for 
 this silly separation, I suppose you '11 decide on 
 it to-night, and in a week I shall hear you Ve 
 made it up, and then I shall say ' I told you so,' 
 and we shall be friends again." 
 
 " Wait and see," said Nelly, very firmly, and 
 walked to the other end of the room. 
 
 Mildred shook her head despairingly, and
 
 MENDING A MISTAKE 221 
 
 went down-stairs. She entered the smoking- 
 room with the face of an angel despondent over 
 human errors, and went up to George's chair, 
 and put her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Dear George," she said in a low voice, " I 've 
 done my best. I tried to make things right. 
 Nelly spoke very cruelly to me " she turned 
 away her head " but I don't mind that. I 'm 
 so utterly miserable about it. Tell me, George, 
 you don't blame me for anything." 
 
 He stood up and smiled at her. " Of course 
 not, Mildred, you 've been a real friend. Don't 
 be too sad about it. People make mistakes, you 
 know, and by far the best thing is to face them." 
 
 But Jack Ashton and his wife went away very 
 sorrowfully, Jack saying good-bye with porten- 
 tous solemnity, Mildred with a lingering grasp 
 of her hand. Then George went back to the 
 drawing-room, and Nelly stood up as he came in. 
 As he saw the utterly sad but brave look in her 
 eyes, he felt sorry for her unhappiness. The 
 thought of Madeleine Adair flashed upon him. 
 It was wise Nelly and he should part; it was 
 best for both of them. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Nelly, if I spoke rudely 
 to you. We agree to part, and we '11 part
 
 222 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 friends, if you will. I shall go out early to- 
 morrow. I think you 'd better ask your father 
 to take you into the country for a few days 
 while everything 's arranged. Good-bye." 
 
 Nelly looked at him hard and stood silently. 
 Then, " Good-bye," she said with an even voice, 
 and turned away, and he left the room, to think 
 I suppose, of Madeleine Adair, whom he should 
 never see again, the thought of whom made this 
 parting welcome. 
 
 Meantime Mildred and Jack drove home in 
 silence, save for an occasional expression of 
 regret. But when they were home, she turned 
 back at the foot of the staircase. 
 
 " All these scenes have quite worn me out. 
 It 's no use making oneself ill. I know you 'd 
 like some supper. Go and forage like a good 
 boy : there are some plover's eggs, I know, and 
 some cold chicken. And you might bring up a 
 small bottle of champagne. I '11 go to my dar- 
 ling while you get it." 
 
 "When we are scourged, we kiss the rod 
 Resigning to the will of God," 
 
 but I am sure Mildred Ashton thought she 
 was sorry.
 
 A HAPPY ENDING 223 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A HAPPY ENDING 
 
 So George Ashton and Nelly his wife were 
 separated. Mrs. Jack the morning after her 
 fruitless intervention in the cause of peace sent 
 an early note to George, begging him to relieve 
 her anxiety; had they not really made it up 
 after all? An answer came back at once to 
 the effect that Nelly was already gone to her 
 father, with whom she was going out of town, 
 and that the decision was irrevocable. Then 
 Mrs. Jack, in spite of her weariness of the night 
 before, took the next train to Rowe, determin- 
 ing that the only immediate scope for her kind- 
 ness was to break the news to old Mrs. Ashton. 
 
 She seemed to have reconciled herself on the 
 way to the wisdom of the separation, for when 
 Mrs. Ashton was for going at once to town and 
 doing her utmost to effect a reconciliation, 
 Mildred argued, gently but very firmly, against
 
 224 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 any such action. She pointed out that she had 
 seen a great deal of George and Nelly, and 
 could judge, and that, having striven against 
 such a conclusion with all her might, was con- 
 vinced they would never live happily together. 
 Finally she confessed, since the truth, however 
 painful, could no longer be glossed over, that 
 Nelly was utterly unworthy of her husband. 
 Mildred had thought so in the beginning, but 
 had done her best all along in the face of 
 continual ingratitude and even insult to be 
 Nelly's good friend. Facts, however, were too 
 strong. Nelly had flirted a vulgar word 
 which Mildred disliked; she would not use a 
 harsher in a most dreadful way with several 
 men, especially with Lord Skeffington. And 
 Mrs. Jack was afraid it could not be called 
 simply girlish light-headedness and want of 
 good taste; she told, with great reluctance, 
 the painful story of Mr. Morrison, which indeed 
 indicated to Mrs. Ashton a horrible atmosphere 
 from which, at all costs, her poor boy must be 
 taken. So in the end she wrote sympathy and 
 not remonstrance to her son, and shortly after- 
 wards a deed of separation was made. 
 
 This fact has, I suppose, the air of a climax.
 
 A HAPPY ENDING 225 
 
 But if you will bear with a fondness for old 
 fashions, I should like to tell you what has 
 happened to these people since, and how they 
 are placed at present. 
 
 It is, as I write, but two years since the last 
 event mentioned, and the sage has warned us 
 to call no man happy before his death. But 
 it is my sincere conviction that for the most 
 part the people introduced to you in these pages 
 have enjoyed or are enjoying as much happiness 
 as may be reasonably expected in a world of 
 compromise and incompleteness. The way- 
 ward and the over-sensitive are not likely to be 
 so continuously happy as they who are eupeptic 
 and content with simple things, who use appro- 
 priate means to ends and are in harmony with 
 their environment. Allowing for that difference, 
 I can see no excessive hardship for George or 
 Nelly Ashton, for Lady Tremayne, or for Made- 
 leine Adair. 
 
 After his separation from his wife George went 
 to stay with his mother at the dower-house at 
 Rowe. He walked about the place and read a 
 great deal, and sat still for hours without reading. 
 He never spoke of his wife to Mrs. Ashton, but 
 he tended her constantly, reading to her in the
 
 226 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 evenings, talking to her of old days. And she 
 was perhaps happier at heart than she had been 
 for many a day, secure, as she thought, in her 
 son's whole love; she clung to it almost passion- 
 ately, and perhaps with prescience. For in a 
 few months she died. Then George went abroad, 
 and was lost to his friends for some months. He 
 felt quite alone now, and his impulses clamoured 
 to console him. He appeared in London in the 
 winter, haggard and feverish, and men at his 
 club shook their heads over his habits. Only 
 one vice was known of him ; he had not the true 
 gambler's nature, and gave up high stakes when 
 his irritations were settled once for all, and the 
 habit of light love had left him ; he was never 
 drunk, but he drank continuously. By and bye 
 he broke down, and had an attack of brain fever, 
 and Mildred Ashton came up from the country 
 to nurse him, and when he was convalescent she 
 took him back with her to Rowe. Since his 
 recovery he has lived mostly in the Temple, 
 reading a good deal, and even writing fitfully, 
 going hardly at all into the world, save for an 
 occasional meal at his club, or for a quiet dinner 
 with the Jack Ashtons when they are in town. 
 He stays at Rowe sometimes, the ice having been
 
 A HAPPY ENDING 227 
 
 broken in his convalescence. Everybody praises 
 Mildred's angelic kindness towards him, and 
 indeed he owes her a good deal. He is much 
 under her eye, and increasingly under her direc- 
 tion. She visits him in the Temple, and orders 
 his affairs, about which he is listless, and, thanks 
 to her, he lives well within his income. He has, to 
 do him justice, shown her a gratitude she appre- 
 ciated, having promised to leave his money to her 
 boy, her elder boy, for Providence had very 
 properly entrusted her with another, and hav- 
 ing given her all his mother's jewels, save one he 
 kept for a wedding present. 
 
 The habit of wine of course recurred, and he 
 is unlikely to live a great number of years ; still, 
 he is never indecorous in that respect, and his 
 monitress has, with sighs, abandoned that par- 
 ticular reform. As was inevitable, also, he has 
 occasionally amused himself in another way. 
 He has seen his wife a few times in the street, 
 and passed her with a smile and a conventional 
 salutation. When people talked scandal of her 
 a little time ago, he rejected angrily a hinted 
 advice that he should try for a divorce, and in 
 this he was supported by Mrs. Jack, who speaks 
 with great kindness and pity of Nelly Ashton.
 
 228 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 A motive which might have prompted him has 
 been removed. Certainly George Ashton is not 
 unhappy. He amuses himself in his own way; 
 his intellect still serves him to some purpose, 
 and he knows how to keep himself in common 
 cheerfulness. And I question if his life be more 
 unworthy than that of most idlers whose ideals 
 have been disappointed. 
 
 Nelly returned a little time after the separa- 
 tion to Victoria Road, and faced the world. Her 
 own world, indeed, was for the most part sympa- 
 thetic. It was inclined to rejoice at what had 
 happened. The men of it found no reserved 
 host there to interrupt the freedom of their talk ; 
 the women, or most of them, were pleased by 
 an essential equality of position. Her settle- 
 ments had been ample in the circumstances ; she 
 refused an allowance her husband offered her in 
 addition. This somewhat aggrieved Major Ca- 
 nover; he intervened as a correspondent with 
 George Ashton, and presently his good humour 
 was restored. So the dinners in Victoria Road 
 were better than they had been. The Canovers 
 and Nelly, however, spent most of the year 
 abroad, where the Major encounters fewer men
 
 A HAPPY ENDING 229 
 
 who have shown the cloven hoof; Dieppe sees 
 them often, Monte Carlo often, Boulogne, when 
 funds are lower, sometimes. As times went by, 
 Nelly regained her old spirits. It is impossible 
 for such a nature to be depressed for ever : it 
 must laugh or it must die. She had thought to 
 live on a higher plane than of old, and had found 
 (she told herself) the new life a cheat ; now she 
 was frankly where she had been ; her thoughts 
 are bitter, it may be, from time to time, but it is 
 certain that she is merry and amused. She is 
 more beautiful than ever, and still with the beauty 
 of a girl. Many men admire her to distraction ; 
 some, as of old, are her true friends. When her 
 husband dies, which will be probably before she 
 is much over thirty, she is certain to marry again, 
 some easy-going worldling, it is likely, who will 
 be kind and give and take. She remembers her 
 husband more faintly every month ; it is impos- 
 sible for a sentimentalist to say she is unhappy. 
 Potentialities there are in her which have been 
 half evoked and laid aside ; actualities of pleas- 
 ure she has in very reasonable measure. 
 
 George Ashton and Lady Tremayne meet but 
 very seldom now. Both may feel a certain shame,
 
 230 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 he for a vague disloyalty, she for a vague exces- 
 siveness of friendship. She thinks of him with 
 sentiment, no doubt, and you know there is a 
 pleasure, after a while, in some sorts of retro- 
 spective sorrow. She reads more than ever, and 
 since Sir Maurice's restoration to activity, has 
 hunted again, and again looks very young for 
 her years. She also has friendships, possibly 
 sentimental friendships. Is there hypocrisy in 
 that? Here is a woman of brain and heart to 
 whom life has offered little of strong reality. 
 Who is called upon to complain of sentimental 
 friendships ? 
 
 There is a jingle by a great poet which says 
 our sighing ends not in dying, and Madeleine 
 Adair is alive. When she went back to Glen- 
 burn she was desolate and physically ill. But 
 she was very young and as the weeks went by 
 the crying need in her for gaiety was forced into 
 an outlet. She began to joke, quietly and not 
 excitedly, with her brother ; she began, as of old, 
 to tease Fanny Adair. Towards the end of the 
 autumn Bob began to think that a change of 
 scene would make Glenburn more delightful in 
 the next spring, and all of them went to France,
 
 A HAPPY ENDING 231 
 
 and spent Christmas in Paris. There were old 
 friends for Madeleine, old schoolfellows become 
 young wives, her mother's intimates who petted 
 her, sympathy and regard. She brightened 
 daily; George Ashton became a definite epi- 
 sode of the past. But Madeleine Adair could 
 play no tricks of maidenly self-deception. " I 
 was in love with George Ashton," she thought, 
 a year after she had seen him last ; " I was true 
 in that, and I shall not forget it, and I shall 
 never be ashamed of it The feeling has grown 
 dim, somehow. I don't understand; it was a 
 true .feeling, and I am not shallow. Perhaps if 
 I saw him again I should feel as I did." 
 
 Perhaps, yes. It is the rule of our poor being 
 that intimacies, even passions, that are quickly 
 formed, do fade quickly if their visible stimulus 
 is taken away. If Madeleine had married George 
 Ashton or even if they had been much together, 
 doubtless her love would have lived. She did 
 not see him again until she was married, and 
 then, for a shake of the hand and common con- 
 versation only. As it was, her love lived in 
 memory; it was never falsified or betrayed. 
 
 To the surprise of his friends, who are every- 
 body, Tommy Tucker went to South Africa
 
 232 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 last autumn, as somebody's secretary. An 
 uncle, who had prophesied good of Tommy, 
 and hated him accordingly in his idleness, was 
 triumphant enough to put down Tommy for 
 a comfortable sum in his will, and obliging 
 enough to die in the following spring, whereon 
 Tommy promptly returned to England. His 
 first visit was to Glenburn. He did not pester 
 Madeleine at all. The old intimacy was re- 
 established on a deeper foundation, it appeared. 
 They were very good friends, and in their 
 youth, and it was spring again, and for all that 
 the world had laughed at him, there was 
 something in Tommy Tucker that made con- 
 tempt impossible. He was wittier than of 
 old ; he proved his brains daily, and, Madeleine 
 thought and had been told by Fanny, who 
 had tact enough to tell her once only he 
 had proved his character a year ago. So he 
 asked her to marry him and was accepted, and 
 was transformed, showing signs of a Tommy 
 Tucker who might do something in the world. 
 She may have been touched by his constancy ; 
 I think she believed she cared for him truly, 
 and thought that the past was past, and here 
 was some happiness before her, Surely rlone
 
 A HAPPY ENDING 233 
 
 but the stupidest of sentimentalists would 
 reproach her, and even he could not deny 
 that she is happy herself and spreads happi- 
 ness round her, and has made Tommy 
 Tucker, whom everybody likes, the happiest 
 of husbands. 
 
 All its district of Hampshire rejoices that Rowe 
 at length has really hospitable occupiers. Jack 
 Ashton and his wife live there most of the year, 
 Jack going to town occasionally. They come to 
 London for the season, and pay a few visits, but 
 are in their element and glory as the hosts of 
 Rowe, where they have the moral satisfaction of 
 doing things cheaply, since they have sub-let 
 the dower-house to a prosperous stock-broker, 
 his wife being Mildred's cousin, who is content 
 to pay for the social advantages of the County, 
 and since George Ashton, who now has money 
 to spare, falls in with Mildred's view of justice 
 in the relation of owner and tenant. She is 
 radiant and triumphant and supremely happy. 
 Why should she not be? If you are a philoso- 
 pher, remember that the qualities of sound sense, 
 directness of aim and action, and freedom from 
 all morbidity and sensibility, do mostly make 
 their possessors happy. And if you are a moral-
 
 234 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD 
 
 ist, remember that Mildred Ashton has many 
 virtues ; she is a good wife and a good mother 
 and a popular hostess ; if she is selfish it is an 
 enlarged selfishness which includes her husband 
 and children in its benevolence, if ever she 
 schemed unconsciously, it was for her home and 
 not for herself alone. 
 
 One may pity the sensitive and wayward with- 
 out grudging Mrs. Jack her prosperity and 
 happiness. One may reflect that possibilities of 
 fineness in them are sometimes foiled, and such 
 fineness as they have is sometimes blurred or 
 turned aside by the rough accidents of the 
 world; one may regret that the rare chances 
 which come to them of rising to where the 
 coarser world cannot hinder them are most often 
 missed. 
 
 But these are not, it may be, the very elect, 
 between whom and Mildred Ashton they stand 
 halfway. Had they been finer and stronger, 
 perhaps the accidents of the world would not 
 have touched them. As it is, the world had 
 used them reasonably well, and so my narrative 
 ends happily.
 
 A 
 
 List of Books 
 
 IN 
 
 BELLES LETTRES 
 
 JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD 
 
 140 FIFTH AVENUE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 1896
 
 A 
 
 List of Books in Belles Lettres 
 
 ALLEN (GRANT). 
 
 THE LOWER SLOPES. With a Titlepage by J. ILLING- 
 WORTH KAY. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 That Mr. Allen is a poet, quite individual, if limited, these ex- 
 cursions leave no manner of doubt. Bookman (London). 
 
 The power of passionate and pointed utterance displayed in 
 this little volume ought certainly not to be allowed to run to 
 waste- Westminster Gazette (London). 
 
 ATHERTON (GERTRUDE). 
 
 PATIENCE SPARHAWK AND HER TIMES. A Novel. 
 Crown 8vo. $1.50. [In preparation. 
 
 BEECHING (REV. H. C.). 
 
 ST. AUGUSTINE AT OSTIA : Oxford Sacred Poem. 
 Crown 8vo, wrappers. 50 cents. 
 
 The work of a man of genuine poetic feeling and of erudition 
 besides, who has known how to give a gracefully imaginative ren- 
 dering to that struggle between conflicting ideas and faiths of 
 which St. Augustine was the outcome. Times (London). 
 
 BENNETT (E. A.). 
 
 A MAN FROM THE NORTH. A Novel. Crown 8vo. 
 $1.25. [/ preparation. 
 
 BENSON (ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER). 
 
 LORD VYET AND OTHER POEMS. Fcap. 8vo. $1.25. 
 
 BROTHERTON (MARY). 
 
 ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE. With Titlepage and 
 Cover Design by WALTER WEST. Fcap. 8vo. 
 $1.25. 
 
 A rarely beautiful little volume of verse. Suggests the work of 
 one or two very famous women poets. Realm (London). 
 
 BROWN (VINCENT). 
 
 Two IN CAPTIVITY. A Novel. i6mo. 75 cents. 
 
 [/ preparation.
 
 BOOKS IN BELLES LETTRES 
 
 CHAPMAN (ELIZABETH RACHEL). 
 
 MARRIAGE QUESTIONS IN MODERN FICTION. Crown 
 8vo. $1.50. [In preparation. 
 
 CHARLES (JOSEPH F.). 
 
 THE DUKE OF LINDEN. A Novel. Crown 8vo. $1.25. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 CRACKANTHORPE (HUBERT). 
 
 VIGNETTES : a Miniature Journal of Whim and Sen- 
 timent. Fcap. 8vo. Boards. #1.00. 
 
 CRANE (WALTER). 
 
 TOY BOOKS. A Re-issue. Each with new Cover 
 
 Designs and end papers. 25 cents each. 
 I. Mother Hubbard. 
 II. The Three Bears. 
 III. The Absurd A B C. 
 
 The group of three bound in one volume, with a deco- 
 rative cloth cover, end papers, and a newly written 
 and designed Titlepage and Preface. 4to. $1.25. 
 
 CROSKEY (JULIAN). 
 
 MAX. A Novel. Crown Svo. $1.50. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 CUSTANCE (OLIVE). 
 
 LOVE'S FIRST FRUITS. Poems. Fcap. Svo. $1.25. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 DAVIDSON (JOHN). 
 
 NEW BALLADS. With a Titlepage and Cover Design 
 by WALKER WEST. Fcap. Svo. $1.50. 
 
 BALLADS AND SONGS. With a Titlepage and Cover 
 Design by WALTER WEST. Fcap. Svo. $1.50. 
 
 [Fourth edition. 
 We must acknowledge that Mr.Davidson's work in this volume 
 
 displays great power There is strength and to spare. 
 
 Times (.London). 
 
 Mr. Davidson's new book is the best he has done, and to say 
 this, is a good deal. Here, at all events, is a poet who is never tame 
 or dull ; who, at all events, never leaves us indifferent. His verse 
 speaks to the blood, and there are times when " the thing becomes 
 a trumpet" Saturday Review (London). 
 
 A RANDOM ITINERARY AND A BALLAD. With a 
 Frontispiece and Titlepage by LAURENCE Hous- 
 MAN. Fcap. Svo. $ 1.50. 
 
 One part of " A Random Itinerary " should not be praised above 
 
 the others The whole volume is of wholesome flavour, and 
 
 is beautiful withal. Literary World (London).
 
 PUBLISHED BY JOHN LANE 5 
 
 DAVIDSON (JOHN), continued. 
 
 PLAYS : An Unhistorical Pastoral ; A Romantic Farce ; 
 Bruce, a Chronicle Play ; Smith, a Tragic Farce ; 
 Scaramouch in Naxos, a Pantomime. With a Fron- 
 tispiece and Cover Design by AUBREY BEARDSLEY. 
 500 copies. Small 410. $2.50. 
 
 The best play in the present volume is entitled " Smith, a 
 Tragic Farce." The motive is as modern as Ibsen, the method is 
 as ancient as Shakespeare ; and yet, in spite of this incongruity, 
 the play must be pronounced a fine one. Liverpool Daily Post. 
 
 A notable volume " The " Unhistorical Pastoral " is a 
 
 charming conception, delicately wrought. Saturday Review 
 (London). 
 
 DAWSON (A. J.). 
 
 MIDDLE GREYNESS. A Novel. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 EGERTON (GEORGE). 
 
 SYMPHONIES. Crown 8 vo. $1.00. \_Inpreparation, 
 
 EGLINTON (JOHN). 
 
 Two ESSAYS ON THE REMNANT. Post 8vo, wrappers. 
 50 cents. [Second edition. 
 
 The appreciation of Wordsworth and the caustic criticism of 
 Goethe are particularly delightful, and from first to last the book 
 is simply a work of genius. Pall Mall Budget (London). 
 
 FEA (ALLAN). 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING. A full, true, and par- 
 ticular Account of the Escape of His Most 
 Sacred Majesty King Charles II., after the Battle 
 of Worcester. With twelve Portraits in Photo- 
 
 fravure,and nearly 100 other Illustrations. Demy 
 vo. $7. 50. 
 
 FIFTH (GEORGE). 
 
 THE MARTYR'S BIBLE. A Novel. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 [/ preparation. 
 
 FLETCHER (J. S.). 
 
 GOD'S FAILURES. Fcap. 8vo. $1.25. 
 BALLADS OF REVOLT. Fcap. 8vo. $1.00. 
 
 FLOWERDEW (HERBERT). 
 
 A CELIBATE'S WIFE. A Novel. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 [/ preparation.
 
 BOOKS IN BELLES LETTRES 
 
 GARNETT (RICHARD). 
 
 POEMS. With Titlepage by J. ILLINGWORTH KAY. 
 
 Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 A book of high poetic merit and charm. Academy (London). 
 
 DANTE, PETRARCH, CAMOENS, cxxiv Sonnets rendered 
 in English. With Titlepage and Cover Design by 
 PATTEN WILSON. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 Dr. Garnett once more shows his versatility and his gift of fine 
 workmanship in verse by this book. Times (Londoti). 
 
 Quite apart from their value as translations, Dr. Gamett's 
 sonnets, Petrarchan in form but saturated with the Shakespearian 
 spirit, form a notable contribution to the treasury of English poetic 
 literature. Graphic (London). 
 
 GRIMSHAWE (BEATRICE). 
 
 BROKEN AWAY. A Novel. Crown 80. $1.25. 
 
 \In preparation. 
 HAYES (ALFRED). 
 
 THE VALE OF ARDEN AND OTHER POEMS. With 
 a Titlepage and Cover designed by E. H. NEW. 
 Fcap. 8vo. $1.25. 
 
 Mr. Hayes is a refined writer of unpretentious verse, and his 
 contented mood is sufficiently rare in modern poetry to make his 
 volume notable. Daily Chronicle (.London). 
 
 This little volume contains very beautiful workmanship. It is 
 especially beautiful in the piece which gives its title to the volume. 
 Daily News (London). 
 
 JAMES (W. P.). 
 
 ROMANTIC PROFESSIONS : A Volume of Essays. 
 With Titlepage designed by J. ILLINGWORTH 
 KAY. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 These essays are chiefly remarkable for the charm of their style 
 and their wealth of illustration. The author's knowledge of fiction 
 of all kinds, and his critical insight into the merits and demerits of 
 writers of fiction, are considerable. Morning Post (London.) 
 
 JOHNSTONE (C. E.). 
 
 BALLADS OF BOY AND BEAK. With a Titlepage by 
 F. H. TOWNSEND. Square 32mo. 75 cents. 
 
 It is impossible to do other than covet the juvenile spirit of a 
 grown-up poet who lingers so lovingly over the experiences of desk 
 and playground, and whose every written page only lacks the inky 
 smudge of the schoolboy-hand to make it perfect. Dundee 
 A avert Utr. 
 
 LANDER (HARRY). 
 
 WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE. A Novel. Crown 8vo. 
 $1.50-
 
 PUBLISHED BY JOHN LANE 
 
 LEFROY (EDWARD CRACROFT). 
 
 POEMS. With a Memoir by W. A. GILL, and a reprint 
 of J. A. SYMOND'S Critical Essay on ECHOES 
 FROM THEOCRITUS. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN GIRL. With a Cover 
 designed by WILL H. BRADLEY. Crown 8vo. 
 $1.50. 
 
 ENGLISH POEMS. Revised. Crown 8vo. Purple 
 
 cloth. $1.50. [Fourth edition. 
 
 In " Enelish Poems " rhyme, rhythm, and diction are worthy of 
 
 a writer ofability and high ambition. Atknutum (London). 
 
 There is plenty of accomplishment, there is abundance of tuneful 
 
 notes, sentiment often very pleasing, delicacy, grace The 
 
 best thing in the book to one's own taste is the last half of " Sunset 
 in the City." "Paolo and Francesca" is very clever. Mr. 
 ANDREW LANG, in Neva Review (London). 
 
 ROBERT Louis STEVENSON : An Elegy. And other 
 Poems, mainly Personal. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 Few, indeed, could be more fit to sing the dirge of the "Virgil 
 of prose" than the poet whose cur iosa J 'elicit 'as is so close akin to 
 Stevenson's own charm. Daily Chronicle (London). 
 
 LOCKE (W. J.). 
 
 DERELICTS. A Novel. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 LOWRY (H. D.). 
 
 MAKE BELIEVE. Illustrated by CHARLES ROBINSON. 
 
 Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 THE HAPPY EXILE. With etched Illustrations by 
 
 E. PHILIP PIMLOTT. (Arcady Library.) Crown 
 
 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 MARZIALS (THEO.). 
 
 . THE GALLERY OF PIGEONS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 Post 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 Endless combinations of wonderfully vivid perceptions, and the 
 picturesque inventions of a joyous fancy. Picturesque and vivid 
 are only words they are not definite enough to give a clear con- 
 ception of the peculiar quality or the peculiar limits of the pleasure 
 to be found in it. Academy (London). 
 
 MEREDITH (GEORGE). 
 
 THE FIRST PUBLISHED PORTRAIT OF THIS AUTHOR. 
 Engraved on the wood by W. BISCOMBE GARD- 
 NER, after the painting by G. F. WATTS. Proof 
 copies on Japanese vellum, signed by Painter and 
 Engraver. $7.50.
 
 BOOKS IN BELLES LETTRES 
 
 MEYNELL (ALICE). 
 
 THE CHILDREN. Fcap. 8vo. $1.25. 
 
 This is the first book printed at the Wayside Press, by 
 Will H. Bradley. 
 
 POEMS. Fcap. 8vo. $1.25. [Third edition 
 
 To the metrical themes attempted by her she brings emotion, 
 sincerity, together with an exquisite p!ay upon our finer chords 
 quite her own, not to be heard from another. Some of her lines 
 have the living tremor in them. The poems are beautiful in idea 
 as in grace of touch. Mr. GEORGE MEREDITH, in The National 
 Review, August , 1896. 
 
 She sings with a very human sincerity, a singular religious 
 intensity rare, illusive, curiously perfumed verse, so simple 
 always, yet so subtle in its simplicity. Atheneeum (London). 
 
 THE RHYTHM OF LIFE AND OTHER ESSAYS. Fcap. 
 8vo. $1.25. [Third edition. 
 
 Full of profound, searching, sensitive appreciation of all kinds 
 of subjects. Exercises in close thinking and exact expression, 
 almost unique in the literature of the day. Atheneeitm (London). 
 
 I am about to direct attention to one of the very rarest products 
 of nature and grace, a woman of genius, one who I am bound to 
 confess has falsified the assertion I made some time ago that no 
 female writer of our time has attained to true "distinction." . . . . 
 Mrs. Meynell has shown an amount of perceptive reason and 
 
 volume is classical work, embodying as it does new thought in 
 perfect language, and bearing in every sentence the hall-mark of 
 genius, namely, the marriage of masculine force of insight with 
 feminine grace and tact of expression. Mr. COVENTRY PATMORE, 
 in Fortnightly Review. 
 
 THE COLOUR OF LIFE AND OTHER ESSAYS. Fcap. 
 8vo. $1.25. [Third edition. 
 
 Mrs. MeynelPs papers are little sermons, ideal sermons, let no 
 one uninstructed by them take fright at the title, they are not 
 preachments ; they are of the sermon's right length, about as long 
 as the passage of a cathedral chant in the ear, and keeping 
 thoughout to the plain step of daily speech, they leave a sense of 
 stilled singing in the mind they fill. The writing is limpid in its 
 depths. She must be a diligent reader of the Saintly Lives. Her 
 manner presents to me the image of one accustomed to walk in ho!y 
 places and keep the eye of a fresh mind on our tangled world, 
 happier in observing than in speaking. And I can fancy Matthew 
 Arnold lighting on such Essavs as I have named, saying with 
 refreshment, " She can write ! '' It does not seem to me too bold 
 to imagine Carlyle listening, without the weariful gesture, to his 
 wife's reading of the same, hearing them to the end, and giving 
 his comment, " That woman thinks. ' Mr. GEORGE MEREDITH, 
 in The National Review, August, 1896.
 
 PUBLISHED BY JOHN LANE 
 
 MAKOWER (STANLEY V.). 
 
 CECILIA. A Novel. Crown 8vo. $1.25. 
 
 OPPENHEIM (MICHAEL). 
 
 A HISTORY OF THE ADMINISTRATION OF THE ROYAL 
 NAVY, and of Merchant Shipping in the relation 
 to the Navy from MDIX. to MDCLX., with an 
 Introduction treating of the earlier period. Plates. 
 Demy 8vo. $7.50. 
 
 MILMAN (HELEN). 
 
 IN THE GARDEN OF PEACE. With Illustrations by 
 EDMUND" H. NEW. (Arcady Library.) Crown 
 8vo. $1.50. [In preparation. 
 
 ROBERTSON (JOHN M.). 
 
 ESSAYS TOWARDS A CRITICAL METHOD. (New 
 Series.) Crown 8 vo. $1.50. [In preparation. 
 
 ST. CYRES (LORD). 
 
 THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF ST. FRANCIS. A new 
 rendering into English of the Fioretti di San Fran- 
 cesco. Crown 8vo. $1.50. [In preparation. 
 
 SEAMAN (OWEN). 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE BAYS. With Titlepage and 
 Cover Design by PATTEN WILSON. Fcap. 8vo. 
 $1.25. 
 
 SETOUN (GABRIEL). 
 
 THE CHILD WORLD : Poems. Illustrated by CHARLES 
 ROBINSON. Crown 8vo, gilt top. $1.50. 
 
 SHARP (EVELYN). 
 
 WYMPS: Fairy Tales. With 8 Coloured Illustrations 
 and Decorative Cover by MABEL DEARMER. 
 4to. $1.75. 
 SHARP (LOUISA). 
 
 POEMS. With a Memoir by FREDERICK HARRISON. 
 Fcap. 8vo. $1.50. [In preparation. 
 
 STEVENSON (ROBERT LOUIS). 
 
 PRINCE OTTO. A Rendering in French by EGERTON 
 CASTLE. Crown 8vo. With Frontispiece, Title- 
 page, and Cover Design by D. Y. CAMERON. $2.50. 
 Also 50 copies on large paper, uniform in size with the 
 
 Edinburgh Edition of the works. $7.50. 
 Mr. Ege; ton Castle's excellent translation of Stevenson's " Prince
 
 IO BOOKS IN BELLES LETTRES 
 
 STEVENSON (ROBERT LOUIS), continued. 
 
 Otto" will undoubtedly bring many new readers to the book. Is 
 beautifully printed. Morning- Post (London). 
 
 To say that the French is worthy of the English is to pay it a 
 compliment which is fully deserved. Yorkshire Herald. 
 
 Mr. Castle's French is perfect, and he preserves in his translation 
 all the virility of the author. Pall Mall Gazette (London). 
 
 STREET (G. S.) 
 
 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD. A Novel. Crown 
 
 8vo. $1.50. 
 TENNYSON (FREDERICK). 
 
 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR. With a Titlepage 
 designed by PATTEN WILSON. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 His soul is satisfied with the contemplation of beautiful things, 
 and the utterance in flowing imagery of the emotions they excite 
 in him. Lovers of pure poetry will find much to satisfy them. 
 Daily Chronicle (London). 
 
 He has no small share of the Tennysonian music, and in two 
 points at least he falls short of no writer of his generation, in his 
 love of nature and in his belief in the dignity of the poet's function. 
 Times (London). 
 
 THIMM (CARL A.). 
 
 A COMPLETE BIBLIOGRAPHY OF FENCING AND DUEL- 
 LING, as Practiced by all European Nations from 
 the Middle Ages to the Present Day. With a 
 Classified Index, arranged Chronologically accord- 
 ing to Languages. Illustrated with numerous 
 Portraits of Ancient and Modern Masters of the 
 Art. Titlepages and Frontispieces of some of 
 the earliest works. Portrait of the Author by 
 WILSON STEER, and Titlepage designed by 
 PATTEN WILSON. 410. $7.50. 
 THOMPSON (FRANCIS). 
 
 POEMS. With Frontispiece, Titlepage, and Cover 
 
 Design by LAURENCE HOUSMAN. Post 410. 
 
 $1.50. [Fourth edition. 
 
 I can hardly doubt that at least that minority who can recognise 
 
 the essentials under the accidents of poetry, and who feel that it is 
 
 to poetic Form only, and not to forms, that eternity belongs, will 
 
 agree that, alike in wealth and dignity of imagination, in depth 
 
 and subtlety of thought, and in magic and mastery of language, 
 
 a new poet of the first rank is to be welcomed in the author of this 
 
 volume. Mr. H. D. TRAII.L, in Nineteenth Century. 
 
 Profound thought and far-fetched splendour of imagery, and 
 nimble-wilted discernment of those analogies which are the roots 
 
 of the poet's language, abound Qualities which ought to 
 
 place him, even should he do no more than he has done, in the 
 prominent ranks of fame, with Cowley and Crawshaw. Mr. 
 COVENTRY PATMOKH, in Fortnightly Review.
 
 PUBLISHED BY JOHN LANE II 
 
 THOMPSON (FRANCIS), continued. 
 
 SISTER SONGS. An Offering to Two Sisters. With 
 Frontispiece, Titlepage, and Cover Design by 
 LAURENCE HOUSMAN. Post4to. Buckram. $1.50. 
 
 Mr. Thompson is the only one of the young poets of the day 
 who peristently tempts one, page after page, to waive one's critic 
 right, and contentedly to stand and admire. Academy (London). 
 
 If any were uncertain, after the publication of Mr. Thompson's 
 "Poems," that a new star was added to the galaxy, the splendid 
 succession of which has never failed in the English poetic firma- 
 ment, let them read " Sister Songs" and be assured. Speaker 
 (London). 
 
 TRAILL (H. D.). 
 
 THE BARBAROUS BRITISHERS. A Tip-top Novel. 
 With Title and Cover Design oy AUBREY 
 BEARDSLEY. Crown 8vo, wrapper. 50 cents. 
 
 Nothing funnier has been written. Daify Telegraph (London). 
 
 A cleverer or more genuinely mirth-provoking, and withal useful 
 parody, we have not read for many a long day. A very large cir- 
 culation may be predicted. St. James's Gazette (London). 
 
 TYNAN (KATHARINE HINKSON). 
 
 CUCKOO SONGS. With Titlepage by LAURENCE 
 HOUSMAN. Fcap. 8vo. $1.25. 
 
 Enchantingly simple, innocent, and light, a book of aerial 
 music in delicate cadencies. Illustrated London News. 
 
 WALTON AND COTTON. 
 
 THE COMPLEAT ANGLER, a new Edition of. Edited 
 by RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. Illustrated by 
 EDMUND H. NEW. 4to. $6.00. 
 
 It would have been difficult to have selected an artist to 
 illustrate this work more in sympathy with it than Mr. New is 
 proving himself to be. 'This edition shows every promise of 
 being one of the most desirable to possess of this quaint and ad- 
 mirable work. Studio (London). 
 
 Copiously illustrated and exquisitely printed, it promises to be " a 
 thing of beauty and a joy for ever " to book lovers who value alike 
 intrinsic 'excellence and a fair exterior. Publisher f Circular 
 (Ltndon). 
 
 WATSON (H. B. MARRIOTT). 
 
 THE CAREER OF DELIA HASTINGS. Crown 8vo. 
 $ 1 . 50. [In preparation. 
 
 WATT (FRANCIS). 
 
 THE LAWS LUMBER ROOM. Second series. Fcap. 
 8vo. $1.25. [In preparation.
 
 12 BOOKS IN BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 WHYTE (WALTER). 
 
 LESLIE WARDEN. A Novel. Crown 8vo. $1.50. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 THE YELLOW BOOK. 
 
 AN ILLUSTRATED QUARTERLY. Small 410. $1.50 
 each volume. 
 Vol. I., of which Four Editions were issued, is 
 
 now out of print. 
 
 Vol. II. Third Edition. [A few copies remain. 
 
 The second volume is better than the first. Daily Chronicle 
 (London). 
 
 A decided improvement on the first. Daily Telegraph (Lon- 
 don). 
 
 Vol. III. Third Edition. 
 
 A considerable improvement on its predecessors. Speaker 
 (London). 
 
 Vol. IV. Second Edition. 
 
 On the whole, the new "Yellow Book" has more that is attractive 
 and less that is repellant than any of its predecessors. Globe 
 (London). 
 
 Vol. V. Second Edition. 
 
 This "Yellow Book" has left its predecessors far behind in gen- 
 eral interest. Daily Chronicle (London). 
 
 Vol. VI. Second Edition. 
 
 None of the other five volumes have reached the mark of excel- 
 lence attained by the sixth. From all points of view the " Yellow 
 Book " seems to improve quarterly. Vanity Fair (London). 
 
 Vol. VII. Second Edition. 
 
 The new "Yellow Book" need not fear the rivalry of any of its 
 predecessors. Daily Chronicle (London). 
 
 Vol. VIII. Second Edition. 
 
 The eighth number is far the best that has yet appeared. St. 
 y anus's Gazette (London). 
 
 Vol. IX. Second Edition. 
 
 This number of the "Yellow Book" is likely to be one of the 
 most popular. Globe (London). 
 
 Vol. X. Second Edition. 
 
 A particularly strong number. Gentlewoman (London). 
 VoL XL Small 410. $1.50. [Just ready.
 
 Mr. Lane is the sole agent for the sale in America of the 
 books issued from the Vale Press, all of which are printed 
 under the supervision of the well-known English artist 
 CHARLES RICKETTS. The following books are now ready : 
 
 THE POEMS OF SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 Edited by JOHN GRAY. With Honeysuckle Border 
 and Initial Letters designed and cut on the wood 
 by CHARLES RICKETTS. Demy 8vo. $7.50 net. 
 
 EPICURUS, LEONTION, AND TERNISSA. 
 
 By WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. With a Border de- 
 signed and cut on the wood by CHARLES RICKETTS. 
 Crown 8vo. $3.50 net. 
 
 THE EARLY POEMS pF JOHN MILTON. 
 
 Reprinted from the edition seen through the press by 
 the author. With a Frontispiece, Border, and 
 Initial Letters designed and cut on the wood by 
 CHARLES RICKETTS. Crown 410. $10.00 net. 
 
 SPIRITUAL POEMS. 
 
 By JOHN GRAY. With a Frontispiece, Border, and 
 Cover designed and cut on the wood by CHARLES 
 RICKETTS. Crown octavo. $4.00 net. 
 
 These books are among the most beautiful produced this 
 century. Only a -very few copies are printed for America. 
 Prospectuses on application.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000675738 9